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THE MONK 



9 Viom&mt. 



IN THREE VOLUMES. 



^»^#»#>»<»#S»«»#«»#l»^»»^^^»#^S»^« 



BY 



M. G. LEWIS, ESQ. M. P. . 



£>omnia, terrores magicos, miracnla, ugu,» 

l^octumoi lemnres, portentaqve. HOR. 

X>reaiuB. magic terrors, spells of mighty pow'r, 
'Witches, and ghosts who,ruve at midnight hour. 



VOL. I. 



onaterfottr: 

PRINTED FOR J. SAUNDERS. 



.1796. 



I 



preface:. 



IMITATION OF HORACE, EP. 20.<— B. I. 



i a^-^ I ^^^■■■1 fc ■ i^^^**^— <^.^wi»^ 



Methinks, oh, yain ilUjudging book! 
I see tbee cast a wishful look, 
Where reputations won and lost are 
In famous row called Paternoster, 
Incensed to find your precious olio 
Buried in unexplor'd port-follo, 
You scorn the prudent lock and key ; 
And pant, well bound and gilt, to see 
Your ToluDie In the window set 
Of Stockdale, Hookham, or Debrett. 

B 3 



TI PREFACE. 

Go, then, and pass that dang'rous bourn 
• Whence never book can back return ; 
And when you find — condemn'a, despis'd^ 
Nieglected, blam'd, and criticis'd— 
Abuse from all who read jou fall, 
(If haply jou be read at all), 
Sorely will you your folly sigh at, 
And wish for me, and home, and qniet» 



Assuming now a conjuror's office, I 
Thus on your future fortune prophesy :-* 
Soon as your novelty is o*er, 
And you are young and new no more, 
In some dark dirty corner thrown, 
Mouldy with damps, with cobwebs strown,. 
Your leaves shall be the "book worm's prey ; 
Or sent to chandler-shop away, 
And, doom'd to suffer public scandal, 
Shall line the trunk, or wrap the candle L 



But should you meet with approbation,, 
And some one find an inclination 



PRE PACE. Vli 

To ask, by natural transition, 

Respecting me and my condition ; 

That I am one, tb' inquirer teach, 

Nor yery poor, nor very rich ; 
i Of passions strong, of hasty nature, 

Of graceless form and dwarfish stature ; 

By few approT'd, and few appro?ing ; 

Extreme in hating and in loving ; 

Abhorring all whom I dislike, 

Adoring who my fancy strike : 

In forming judgments never long, 

And for the most part judging wrong : 

In friendship firm, but still belieying 

Others are treacherous and deceiving ; ^ 

^ And thinking, in the present era, 

^ That friendship is a pure chimera : 

More passionate no creature living. 

Proud, obstinate, and unforgiving ; 

But yet, for those who kindness shew, 

Ready through fire and smoke to go. 

N. 

Again, should it be asked. your page, 
^< Pray what may be the author^s age?" 

b4 



viii PREVACB* 

Your faults, no doubt, wiii vtako H clear, 
I scarce hare aeen mj^ twentieth yew. 
Which passed, kind reader, am mf wotd, 
While England's thrctie held Geoige lh«Tliirdr 

Now then your yentUroafir course pursue : 
Go, my delight !-*^dear book, adieu ! 

M. G. U 
Hague. 



TABLE OF THE POETEY. 



VOL. I. 

Preface — Imitation of Horace page x 

The Gipsy's Song 66 

Inscription in an Hermitage 99 

Durandarte and Belerma 146 

VOL. IL 

LoTe and Age 125 

The Exile 161 

Midnight Hymn 232 

VOL. III. 

The Water King 16 

Serenade 31 

Alonzo the Brave and Fair Imogine ...:.,... 60 



B 5 



\ 

( 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



THE first idea of this Romance was suggested by 
the story of the SarUon Barma^ related in the 
Guardian. The Bleeding Nun is a tradition still 
credited in manj parts of G^ermany ; and I haYe 
been told, that the ruins of the castle of Lauensieiny « 
which she is supposed to haunt, may yet be seeu 
upon the borders of Thuringia, The Water King^ 
from the third to the twelfth stanza, is the fragment 
of an original Danish ballad ; and Beferma and Du^ 
randarte is translated from some stanzas to be found 
in a collection of old Spanfsh poetry,, which contains 
also the popular song, of Ga^feros and Melesindroy 
mentioned in Don Quixote. I ha^e now made » 
full avowal of all the plagiarisms of which I am. 
aware myself ; but I doubt not many more may be 

found,, of which I am at present totally unconscio4is». 



THE MONK. 



CHAPTER I. 



-Lord Angelo is precise; 



Stands' at a guard with envy; scarce confesses 
That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
Is more to bread than stone. 

Measure loa Measure. 

ScAKCELY had the ahbey-bell tolled 
£or five minutes^ and already was the church 
of the Capuchins thronged with auditors. 
Do not encourage the idea that the crowd 
was assembled either firom motives of piety 
or thirst of information: but very few were 
influenced by those reasons ; and in a city 
where superstition reigns with such des- 
potic sway as in Madrid, to seek for true 
devotion would be a fruitless attempt. 
T!he audience now assembled in the Capa-^ 

b6 



vr«^ 



t 



12 THE MONK. 

chin church was collected by various causes, 
but all of them were foreign to the osten- 
sible motive. The women came to shew 
themselves — ^the men to see the women : 
some were attracted by curiosity to hear 
an orator so celebrated; some came be- 
cause they had no better means of employ- 
ing their time till the play began ; some 
from being assured that it would be im- 
possible to find places in the church ; and 
one half of Madrid was brought thither by 
expecting to meet the other half. The only 
persons truly anxious to hear the preacher 
wer^ a Ifew antiquated devotees, and bdf 
a dozen xivsi orators, determined to find 
fault with and ridicule the disoourse. Ais 
to the remainder of the audience, the ser- 
mon might have been omitted altogethex; 
certainly without their bemg disappodntdd, 
and very probably without their pereehr^ 
ing the omission. 

Whatever was the occasion, it is at least 
certain, that the Capuchin chixreh had ne- 
ver witnessed a more numett>us assembly. 



'k 



TH£ MONK. 18 

ISnresj oomer wa» fflled, enry^eAt was 
oocupied. The very statues whidi brm. 
mented '4iie long akles were pressed into 
the service. Boys suspended themselves 
upon the wings ofdi6rubim6;< saint Francis 
and saint Mark bore neadi a spectator onhis 
shouId^S'; and SEont Agatica found herself 
under the neoesaity of canying double. 
The eonaequenoe was, tluUv in spite of all 
their hutry and expedition/ our two new 
oocners, on entering the duirdi/ looked 
round in vain for places. 

However, the dd woman continued to< 
move forwards. Iti vain were exdama*' 

« 

tions of displeasure vented agaaiist her fiom 
all sides; in vain was die addressed with 
-^^* I assure you, (^egntcxa, there are no 
pkees bere.**-^^* I beg^ segnora, tliat you 
will not crowd meso intolenbiyZ-^-Z'Seg* 
nora, you cannot, pass this way. Btepsr 
me? how eim pe(^lq be so tisoultlek^ 

l^he dldwoi»an was obatinsfte^ and <)ki 
^le went. Sy dmt; ^ pcmveiaiiiKe laiid 
two bmM^y arms, j^e made a pipsage 



14 THE MONK. 

through the crowd, and managed to bustle 
lierself into the very body of the church, at 
no grtet distance from the pulpit Har 
companion had followed her with timidi- 
ty, and in kil^ioe^ profiting by the exer- 
tions of her conductress. 

** Holy Virgin !" exclaimed the old wo- 
man, in a tone of disappointment, while 
die threw a glance of inquiry round her— - 
*^ Holy Virgin ! what heat ! what a crowd ! 
I wonder what can be the meaning of all 
this. I believe we must return : thape is 
no such thing as a seat to be had, and no- 
body seems kind enough to aceommodate 
us widi thdirs.** 

This broad lunt attracted the notice of 
two cav^diers, who occupied stools on the 
right hand, and were leaning their backs 
against the seventh cdumn fiom the pul- 
pit Both were^ young, and richly habit- 
ed. Hearing this appeal to their polite- 
ness pronounced ' in a female y oice, they 
interrupted their conversation to look at 
the speaker. She had thrown up her veil 



THE MONK. 15 

in order to take a dearer look round the 
cathedral : her haur was red, and she squint- 
ed. The cavaliers turned round, and re* 
newed thdur conversation. 

^ By all means/' replied the old wo- 
man's companion, *^ by all means, Leonella, 
let us return home immediatdy ; the heat 
is excessive, and I am terrified at such a 
crowd.'* 

These words were pronounced in a tone 
of unexampled sweetness. The cavaliers 
again broke off their discourse; but for 
this time they were not contented with 
looking up, but started involuntarily fiom 
thdr seats, and turned themselves towaxds 
the speaker. 

The voice came fix)m a female, the deli^ 
cacy and el^ance of whose figure inspired 
the youths with the most lively curiosity 
to view the face to which it belonged. 
This satisfi^^on was denied them. Her 
features were hidden by a thick veil ; \mt 
struggling through the crowd had de- 
ran^d it sufficiently to discover a neck» 



16 THE UQVK, 

wiiicK fi^ tgpmoetxy and heaaty^ might 
hafre vied wkh &b Medicean Vebuls. It 
was cf the most daraling wMteness, aiid 
received additionfd charms fibm Imng 
shaded by tiie tceS9» of her long fair hair, 
whicii desoenikd in ringlets to her waist. 
Her figure was rather below ttysixi above 
the middle size t it was light and aliy bs 
that of an Hamadryad. Her bosom was 
owefuUy vdled Her dress was white ; it 
was fkstened by ai blue sasb^ ^d jntst per** 
icdtted to peep but from under it a little 
foot of die t»Q8t delicate proportions. A 
diapldt of large grains hung upofn her ami, 
and her &ce Fas cova»d with a veil of iMdt 
black gauze. Such was the female to whom 
die youngest of the cavnliers now offered 
ins seat^ while the other thought it neces^* 
sary to pay the same attention to her cosor 
paoion. 

The old lady, with many expres^cms of 
gratitude, but without xmidi difiSieulty, 
accepted the offer, and seated hmelf ; tlie 
^^oung olie fi>llowed her exan^le, but made 



THE MONK. 17 

no Other oom^iment than a simple and 
graceful reverence. Him Lorenzo (sudi 
was the cavaiiei^9 name whose seat she had 
accepted) placed himself near her: but 
first he whispered a few words ii^ his 
fiiend's eat-, who immediately took the 
hint, and endeardured to dntwoff the old 
woman's altentlon from her lovely charge. 

'* You are doubtless lately arrived at 
Madrid ?** said Lorenax) to his fair neigh, 
hour ; ^ it is impos^ble that audi chflrms 
should have long remained unobserved; 
wd had not this been your 'first public 
appearance, the envy of the women, and 
adoration of the men, would have render- 
ed you already sufficiently lemsti'kable.'* 

He paused, in expectaticiv.bf an answer. 
As his speech did nbt absdiutely reqviire 
one, the lady did not open her tips. After 
a few momentSf he resumed his discourse. 

" Am I wrong in supposing you to tc 
a stranger to Madrid ?•* 

Tie lady hestttated r and at laftt; in so 






18 THE MONK. 

low a voice as to be scarcely inteUigible^ 
she made shift to answer— -^ No, segiior." 

'' Do you intend making a stay of any 
length r 

Yes, segnor." 

I should esteem myself fortunate^ w€^re 
it in my power to contribute to making 
your abode agreeable : I am well known 
at Madrid, and my family has some inte- 
rest at court. If I can be of any service, 
you cannot honour or oblige me more than 
by pennitting me to be of use to you.— 
Surely," said he to himself, '^ she cannot 
answer that by a monosyllable ; now she 
must say something to me." 

Lorenzo was deceived, for the lady an* 
swered only by a bow. 

By this time he had discovered that his 
nagBbour was not very conversible ; but 
whether her silence proceeded from pride> 
discretion, timidity, or idiotism, he was 
still unable to decide. 

After a pause of some minutes-^" ^t ia 



THE MONK. Id 

certainly from your being a stranger/' said 
he, *' and as yet unacquainted with our 
customs, that you continue to wear your 
veil. Permit me to remove it" 

At the same time he advanced his hand 
towards the gauze, the lady raised hers 
to prevent him. 

" I never unveil in public, segnor.** 

" And where is the harm, I pray you ?" 
interrupted her companion, somewhat 
sharply ; ** do not you see that the other 
ladiei^ have all laid their veils aside — to do 
honour^ no doubt, to the holy place in 
which we are ? I have taken off mine al- 
ready ; and surely, if I expose my features 
to general observation, you have no cause 
to put yourself in such a wonderful alarm. 
Blessed Maria ! here is a ftiss and a bustle 
about a chit's face ! €ome, come, child^ 
uncover it; I warrant you that nobody 
will run away with it from you." 

" Dear aunt, it is not the custom in 
Murda." 

** Murcia, indeed ! Holy saint Barbara ! 



20 THE MONK. 

what does that signify? You are always 
putting me in mind of that viUanous prc^ 
vinee. If it is thie custom in Madrid^ that 
is all that we ought to mind ; and thetioy- 
fore I desbre you to take off yo«a: veal im- 
mediately. Obey me tfaJ3 moment, An» 
tonia, for you know that I oannot boar 
contradiction/' 

Her niece was silent^ but made no far- 
th^ opposition to don Loteinzo's efforts^ 
who, arqpied with the aunf 9 sanotion, has^ 
tened to rraiove the gaiMiei. What a fee^ 
raph's head presented itsdf to hia admi]»- 
tion ! Yet it was rather bewitdung than 
beautiful; it was not so lovely from regu^ 
larity of features* as from sweetness i^d 
sensibility of countenanoe. The. jselveral 
paita of her &ee oinsidered separately, 
many of them were &r £rpm handsome ; 
but, when examinedt togeth^, the whole 
#as adorable. Her skin, though fair, was 
not entirely without freckles i her eyes were 
not very large, nor their lashes particularly 
long; but then her lips were of the most 



l^Hfi MONK. SI 

TOsy il^H^lfid ; fe^r .ikif a»d undulivting 
hair, confined by a simple ribband, poured 
ii^ff beiow tier v^Ldt in ft ppoftisioti of 
litigli^ ; bdini^ck W&ft ftiij Md beftntiftil in 
tht ^tS'^H^^; hef hand d&d ami were 
liMnnid^ i^ftii the t&ost peiffecf symmetiy ; 
4ii^ mild Mile eyes eedmed a heaven of 
m^e@tne«s, «nd &e crystal in which they 
moved t|)2ki»kled tvithi aU thfe hriHianee of 
di^mottds. ^e appeared lo be Maoroely 
fiftetn; ati avob saxbo^ {A^^ying hnltid her 
iooath> dedared fast to be possessed of 
liveliness, whidh exdesB'oftmxidily at pre- 
sent T^ressed. She iookad round her 
^^kh a basUSd ghoioe ; 60d whenever her 
eyes aeddehtally qnst JLtoltenwofh^ she :drQp- 
^{led thefn hastily iipon het rosary; her 
ohe^ w^ imm^atciy ^ttfiused with 
blushesi, add she began /to tell faer beadis, 
'thbugh her inannerevideiltly shelved that 
^Ite knew not what )die wm «bout. 

ILoreiizo gazed upon Iher with oaiingled 
irarpkise and admimtic^; but the aunt 



THE Monk. 

thought it necessary to apologize for An- 
tonia's numvaise honte. 

" 'Tis a young creature," said she, ^ who 
is totally ignorant of the world. She has 
been brought up in an old castle in Mur- 
eia, with no othar society than her mo- ' 
ther's, who, God help her! has no more 
sense, good soul! than is necessary to car- 
ry her soup to hier mouth ; yet she is my 
own sister, both by father and mother/* 

^' And has so little sense?'' said don 
Christoval, with feigned astonishment: 
*^ how very extraordinary !" 

" Very true, segnor; is it riot strange ? 
however, such is the &ct ; and yet, only to 
see the luck of some jpeople ! A young 
nobleman, of the very first ^uaMty, took 
it into his head that Elvira had some pre- . 
tensions to beauty— As to pretensions, in 
truth she had always enough of them ; but 
as to beauty — ^if I had only taken half the 
pains to set myself off which she did-^Bui^ 
this is neither here nor there. As I was^ 



THE MONK. 2S 

8a3ring, segnor^ a young nobleman fell in 
love with her, and married her miknown 
to his fathar* Their union remained a se- 
cret near three years ; but at last it came 
to the ears of the old marquis, who, as 
you may: ^oll suppose, was not much 
pleased with the intelligence. Away he 
posted in all haste to Cordova, determined 
to seize Slvira, and send Her away to some 
place or other, where she would never be 
heard of more. Holy saint Paul ! how he 
stormed, on finding that she had escaped 
him, had joined her husband, and that 
they had embarked together for the Indies ! 
He swore at us all, as if the evil spirit had 
possessed him ; he threw my &ther into 
prison— as honest a .pains-taking shoe- 
maker as any in Cordova ; and when he 

• 

went away, he had the cruelty to take 
ftom us my sister's little boy, then scarcely 
two years old ; and whom, in the abrupt- 
j^ss of her flight, she had been obliged to 
Mave behind her. I suppose that the poor 
httle wretch met with bitter bad treat- 



24 TSRVtWlK. 

m 

^ment firomliim, ibrin i> fiw stipntbf oiler 

'' Wby^ this ivafr a ixldst ter^^ 
idw, segbor^r . . . : 

/vOh, Gdyxaking! aoda jdiajbo totally 
deiroid of taste ! Wliy^ wtiiild you , believe 
it; segnor^ ivben I iatleidapted to padfy 
Idm^ faejcuisediSBie far a wifc6b> end. rndsufid 
ithat^ to punidi Hiecounl^ jBi]r4i$ter rai^^t 
inscxime asiigly as myscSf ?-^Ugly>l^^ 
Ilikehimfi)i?4hat'' 

/' Ridiihiloius r cried doa Qoiaijoval. 

'^ I>()abde8fttbeooimt\v»sfiddha«reihoi^ 

"biinsetf fortiiiial:e» hbdibb been jpecmitted 

to esdiaiige' liie one sister fdr tiie o&tf .^' 

" " Oh^ Chiifiti segboi^ y<m lireMattjr too 

jptMbs: Hchiremr^ I am >b0sili[f-glad itipt 

4h64aoiidi& was aP« liiffevent uray of tibiiit- 

ing. A roughly prdttjr piece 'of biismess, 

.to be sm^ Etviragfaas thadiErof iit ! After 

tl^proififig and stewing in the Indies fbr thip- 

tMn long y»rs^ ber budbitwL dies^ and 

ai«^unis to Spain^ wfthout A SMaue t&' 

/her head^ lor inottey to prodnie heridgHe! 




THE MONK. S5 

Tins Antonia was then but an in&nt, and 
ber only remaining child. She found that 
her &ther-in Jaw had married again, that 
he was irreconcileaSle to the cond^ and 
that his second wife had produced him a 
SQQ, who is reported to be a very fine 
young man. The old marquis refused to 
see my sister or her child ; but sent her 
word that, on condition of never hearing 
any more of her^ he would assign her a 
small pension, and she might live in an 
dd castle which he possessed in Murcia. 
This had been the favourite habitation of 
his eldest son; but since his flight from 
Spain, the old marquis could not bear tho 
place, but let it &11 to ruin and confusion* 
My sister accepted tlie proposal ; she re^ 
tired to. Murcia, and has remained there 
till within the last month." 

" And what brings her now to Madrid ?'* 
inquired don Lorenzo, whom admiration 
tf the young Antonia compelled to take 
a lively in^rest in tlte talkative ol4 wo-. 

ifian's narration. 

♦ . .... 

VOL. I» C 



S6 THE M0N1E. 

** Alas, segnor, her father-in-law being 
lately dead, the steward of his Murcian 
estates has refiised to pay her pensioiy any 
longer. With the design of supplicating 
his son to renew it, she is now come to 
Madrid : but I doubt ihat she might have 
saved herself the trouble; you young 
noblemen have always enough to do with 
your money, and are not very often dis- 
posed to throw it away upon old women. 
I advised my sister to send Antonia with 
her petition ; but she would not hear of 
such a thing. She is so obstinate 1 Wdl,. 
she will find herself the worse for not fol- 
lowing my counsels : the girl has a good 
pretty face, and possibly might have done 
much;*' 

•** Ah, segnora,** interrupted don Christo- 
val, counterfeiting a passionate air, " if 
a pretty face will do the business, why has 
not your sister recourse to you ?** 

** Oh, Jesus! My lord, I sweat you 

^uite overpower me with your gallantry ! 

'But I promise you that I am too well 



THE MONK. 27 

aware ci the danger of such expeditionsi 
to trust myself in a young nobleman^s 
power. No, no ; I liave as yet preserved 
my reputation without blemish or re« 
proach, and I always knew how to keep 
the men at a proper distance.*' 

*^ Of that, segRora, I have not the least 
daubt. But 'permt me to ask you, have 
you then any aversion to matrimony ?" 

** That is a home question, I cannpt but 
confess, that if an amiable cavalier was to 
present himself "" 

Here she intended to throw a tender 
and significant look upon don Christoval t 
but, as she unluckily happened to squint 
roost abominably, tlie glance fell directly 
upon his companiob. Lorenzo took the 
epmpliment to himself, and answered it by 
a profound bow. 

" May I inquire," said he, " the name 
of the marquis V 

The marquis de las Gistemasi.'' 
I know him intimately well. He h 
not at present in Madrid, but is expected 

c a 



4t 



« 

> 



2B ^«« Mbifft.' 

l>ere daily. H<& is one of the b^st isf f»en ; 
and if the lovely Antoma will permit me 
to be her advocate ^witli himj I doubt not* 
my being able to make a fiivouxable r&pcntt 
of her caufte."^ 

Antonia raised her blue eyes, and si*' 
lentty thanked him for the offe* 1^ a smUe 
of inexpressible sweet ness. Leonella*8 «»• 
tisfaetion was much more loud and audible: / 
ii^deed, a« her niece was generally silent in 
ber company, «be thought it incumbent 
upon her to talk enough ibr both: this she. 
managed Without difficulty, fbr she v^ry 
seldom found hwsdf deficient in wordis. 

^Oh, segnor,*' she cried, **ydu will Iky 
our whole family under tbe.most signal ob- 
ligations ! I accept your ojSfer with all poia- 
sible gratitude, and return you a thousand 
thanks for the generosity of your proposi^L 
AnFlonia, why do you not speak, . child ? 
While the cavalier says all sorts of civil 
things to y^u« you sH like a statues and ne- 
ver utter a syllable ef thanks, either bad^ 
good, 4?r in&fferieat ?— — '* 



-THE M(WK. '29 

** My itear'aunt, I am v«fy sensible that 






•* Fie, niece !— How often have I tol^r 
you, that you neve? should interrupt a 
person who is speaking ! When did you 
ever know me do sufch a thing ? Are these 
-your Murcian manners ? Mercy on me ? 
I shall never be able to make this girl any 
thing like a person of good breeding. — But 
pray, segnOr," she continued, addressing 
herself to don^ Christoval, ** inform m^ 
vehy such a crowd is assembled to-day iu 
this cathedral ?" 

" Can you possibly b'e ignorant, that 
Ambrosio, abbot of this monastery, pro- 
nounces a sermon in this cluirch every 
Thursday? All Madrid rings with his 
praises. As yet he has preached but thrice; 
but all who have heard him are so delight- 
ed with his eloquence, thai it is as difficult 
to obtain a place at church as a*^ the first 
representation of a new comedy. His 
jame oertainly must have reached your 
'«ars?" 

c S 



30 tii£ MONir. 

" Alas, segnor, till yesterday I n€Ver 
had the good foil tune to see M'adrid ; and 
at Cordova we are so little informed of 
what is passing in the rest of the world, 
that the name of Ambrosio has never been 
inent^oned in its precincts." 

** You will find it in every one's mouth 
at Madrid. He seems to have fascinated 
the inhabitants ; and, not having attended 
his sermons myself, I am astonished at the 
enthusiasm which he has excited. The 
adoration paid him both by young and 
old, by man and woman, is unexampled. 
I'he grandees load him with presents ; their 
wives refuse to have any other confessor, 
and he is known through all the city by 
the name of the man of holiness.^ 

" Undoubtedly, segnor, he is of noble 
origin T 

" That point still remains undecided. 
The late superior of the Capuchins found 
him, while yet an infant, at the abbey-door : 
all attempts to discover who had left him 
there were vain, and the child himself 



TB£ HONKr SI 

iSDuld givier no account of his parents. He 
was educated in the monastery, where he 
has remained ever since. He early shew- 
ed a strong, inclination for study and rc« 
tirement ; and as soon as he wi» of a pro^ 
per age, he pnxiounced his vows. No one 
has ever appeared toclaim him, or clear up 
the mystery which conceals^ his birth ; and 
the monks; who find their account in the 
&vour which is shewn- to their establish- 
ment from respect to him, have not hesi- 
tated to publish, that he is a present to 
them from the Virgin. In truth, the sin- 
gular austerity of his life gives some coun- 
tenance to the report. He is now thirty, 
years old, every hour of which period has 
been passed in study, total seclusion from 
the w(»dd, and mortification of the flesli. 
Till these last three weeks, when he was 
chosen superior of the society to which he 
beloners, he had never been on the outside 
of the abbey- walls. Even now he never 
quits them except on Thursdays, when he 
delivers a discourse in this cathedral, whicli 

c 4 



S2 THE MONK. 

all Madrid assembles to hear. His knoW-^ 
ledge is said to be the most profound, his 
eloquence the most persuasive. In the 
whole course of his life, he has never been 
known to transgress a single rule of his or- 
der ; the smallest stain is not to be dtsco^ 
vered upon his character; and he is report- 
ed to be so strict an observer of chastity, 
that he knows not in what consists the dif. 
ference of man and woman: the commoi^ 
people, therefore, esteem himto bea saint." 
** Dpes that make a saint ?" inqaired 

Antonia. " Bless me ! then am I oneJ* 

• ... , • , 

** Holy St. Barbara !*' exclaimed Ledk 
nella^ •* what a question J Fie, child, fief I 
these are not fit subjects for young women 
to handle. You should npt seem to re- 
member that there is such a thing as a man 
in the world, and you ought to imagine 
every body to be of the same sex with your- 
self. I should like to see you give people to 
understand, that you know that a man hasf 
no breasts, and no hips, and no—'* 

Luckily for Antonia's ignorance, which 



THE MQXK. 83 

her aunt's lecture would soon have dispel 
led, an universal murnmr through the 
<^urch announced the preacher's arrival 
Donna Leondl^ rose from her seat to takQ 
a better view of him^ and Antcmia follow* 
ed her example. 

He was amanof nobleportand command* 
ing presence. His stature was lofly, and 
his features uncommonly handsome. His 
Bose was aquiline, his eyes large, black, and 
sparkling, and his dark brows almost jom- 
ed togrther. His c(»nplexion was of a deep 
but clear brown : study and watching had 
^tirely deprived his cheek of colour. Tran- 
quillity reigned upon his smx^pth unwrin- 
kled forehead; and content, expressed upon 
every feature,, seemed toannounce the man 
equally unacquainted with cares and crimes.. 
He bowed himself with humility to tlie au- 
dience. Still there was a certain severity 
in his look and manner that inspired uni- 
versal awe, and few could sustain the glance 
of his eye, at cftvce fiery and peneti?ating. 
Such was Ambrosio, abbot of the CapU-* 

c 5 



34 TH£ MONK. 

chins, and surnaraed the man of holiness. 

Antonia, while she gazed upon him.ea^ 
gerly, felt a pleasure fluttering in her bo- 
-Bom, which till then had been unknown to 
her, and for which she in vain endeavoured 
to account. She waited with impatience 
till the sermon should begin : and when at 
length the friar spoke, the sound of his 
Voice seemed to penetrate into her very 
soul. Though no other of the spectators 
felt such violent sensations as did the young 
Antonia, yet every one listened with inte- 
rest and emotion. They who were insen- 
sible to religion's merits were still enchant- 
ed with Ambrosio's oratory. All found 
their attention irresistibly attracted while 
bespoke, and the m<3st profound silence 
reigned through the crowded aisles. Even 
Lorenzo could not resist the charm ; he for- 
got that Antonia was seated near him, and 
listened to the preacher with undivided at- 
tention. 

In language nervous, clear, and isimple, 
the ...onk expaiiated on the beauties of re- 



THE MONK. 35 

figion. He explained some abstruse parfs 
of the sacred writings in a style that car<^ 
ried with it universal conviction. His 
vdce, at once distinct and deep^ was fhiught 
with all the terrors of the tempest, while 
he inveighed against the vices of humanit}^ 
and described the punishments reserved for 
them ih a fiiture state; Every hearer look- 
ed back upon his past offences, and trem^ 
Blied'c the thunder seemed to roll,, whose 
bolt was destined to crush him, and the 
abyss of eternal destruction to open before 
his feet ! But when Ambrosio, changing 
his thenre, spoke of the excellence of an 
unsullied conscience, of the glorious pro- 
spect which eternity presented to the soul 
untainted with reproach, and of therecom- 
pence which awaited^, it in the regions of 
everlasting glory, his auditors felt their 
scattered spirits insensibly return: they 
threw th^mselvei^ with confidence* upon 
them^rcy of their Judge; they hung with 
delight upon the consoling words of tlie 
preacher ; and^ while hiis full voice swelled 

c6 



3$ mE MONK. 

into melody, they were transported to 
tliose happy regicMUs which he painted to 
their imaginations in colours so bdlliant 
and gloZg. 

The discourse was of considerable length ; 
yeli when it concluded, the audience griev* 
ed that it had not lasted longer. Though 
the monk had ceased to speak, enthusiastic 
silence still prevailed through the ch^urch. 
At length the charm gradually dissolvings 
the general admiration was expressed in 
audible terms. As Ambrosio descended 
from thepiUpit, his auditors crowded round 
him, loaded him with blessings, threw them* 
selves at his feet, and kissed the hem of his 
garment. He passed on slowly, with his 
hands crossed devoutly upon his bosom, 
io the door opening into the abbey-cha- 
pel, at which his monks waited to receive 
him. He ascended the steps, and then 
turning towards his followers, addressed to 
them a few words of gratitude and exhor- 
tation. While he spoke^ his rosary^ con>. 
posed of large gmins of amber, fell from his 



« 
t 



XHE MONK* S7 

haoidt dnd dropped among the surrounding 
multitude. It was seized ei^rly* and im- 
mediately divided amongst the spectators. 
Whoever became possessor of a bead pr^ 
served it as a sacred reliqu^ ; and had it 
been the chaplet of tiirice4)le$sed St. Fran-r 
ds himself^ it o^uld not have beeD disputed 
with greater, vivacity .: The abbot, smiling 
at their ei^emess, pronounced his benedic*^ 
tion said quitted the churdi, while humi- 
lity dwelt upon every feature. Dwelt she 
also in his heart ? 

Antonia's eyes followed him with anx- 
iety : as the door closed after him,^ it seem« 
ed to heir as if she bad lost some one essen- 
tial to her happiness ; a tear stole in silence 
down her cheek.—" He is separated from 
the world !" said she. to herself; •* perhaps 
I diall never see him more !" 

As she wiped away the tear, Lorenzo 
observed her action. 

"Are you satisfied with our orator?" 
said he; " or do you think that Madrid 
6irerrates his fadents ?" ^ 



Sft TH£ monk: 

Antonia's heart was so filled withadihira^ 
tion for the monk, that she eagerly seiized 
the opportunity of speaking of him : be- 
sides, as she now no longer conddeoed Lo^ 
renzo as an absohite stranger, she was less 
embarrassed by her excessive timidity. 

" Oh, he far exceeds aH my expecta- 
tions,'' answered she ^ *^ tiil thjs momeht I 
had no idea of the powers of eloquence; 
but when he spoke^ bis voice inspii^ me 
with such interest, such esteem, I might 
almost say such affection for him, that I aiir 
myself astonished at the acuteness of my 
feelings.'* 

Lorenzo smSed at the strength of hep 
expressions. 

** You are young, and-just entering into 
Rfe,'* said he ; ** yoiir heart, new to the 
world,, and full of warmth and sensibility^ 
receives its first impressions with eager- 
ness. Artless yourself^ you suspect not 
others of deceit ; and viewing the world 
through the medium of your own truth 
and innocence, you fancy all who surround 



TB£ MONK. 8d 

you to deserve your confidence and esteem^ 
What pity that these gay visions must 
soon be dissipated ! — what pity that you 
must soon discover the baseness of man- 
kindy and guard against your felIow->crea- 
tures as against your foes T' 

^^Alas, segnor,'' replied Antouia, *'th^ 
misfortunes of my parents have already 
placed before me but too many sad ex- 
amples of the perfidy of the world ! Yet 
surely^ in the present instance, the warmth 
of sympathy cannot have deceived me.** 

•* In the present instance, I allow that 
it has not. Ambrosio's character is per- 
fectly without reproach ; and a man who 
has passed the whole of his life within the 
walls of a convent cannot have found the 
opportunity to be guilty, even were he 
possessed of the inclination. But now, 
when obliged by the duties of his situa- 
tion, he must enter occasionally into the 
world, and be thrown into the way of 
temptation, it is now that it behoves him 



40 TRXxoHs;. 

to shevtr the briKkmce of hig riortiie The 
trial is dangerous : he is jurt tt that ]leiiod 
of life when the passions are most vigo^ 
rous^ imbridled, and despotic; 1m estab* 
lished reputation will mark him ooort to Ge«» 
duction as an illustrious Victim ; nordty 
will ^ve additional diarms to the dlnrre- 
ments of pleasure ; and even, the taieats 
with whieh nature has endowed him will 
ton tribute to his ruin^ by facilitatii^ the 
means of obtaining hi» object Very few 
would i^tutn victorious from a.^ contest Mq 
severe." * 

" Ah ! surely Ambrosio will be one of 
tliosefew." 

" Of that I have myself no doubt ; by 
alf accounts he is an exceptioH to mankind 
in general^ and envy would seek in vain for 
a blot upon his chj^racter.'* 

" Segnor, you delight me by this ass^u* 
nmce ! It encourages me to indulge my 
prepossession in his favour ; acnd you know- 
not with what pain I ^uld have refaress*- 



TttE MONK. 4^ 

ed the sentinient Ah, dearest aunt, en- 
treat my mother to choose him for our 
confessor/* 

" I entreat her !" replied Leonella ; " I 
promise you that I shall do no such thing. 
I do not like this same Ambrosio in the 
least ; he has a look of severity about him 
that made me tremble fr6m head to foot. 
Were he my confessor, I should never have 
the courage to avow one half of my pecca^ 
dilloes ; and then I should be in a rare con- 
dition ! I never saw such a stem-looking, 
mortal, and hope that I never shall see 
such another. His description of the devil, 
God Wess us ! almost terrified me out of 
xny wits ; and when he spoke about sin* 
ners, he seemed as if he was ready to eat 
them." 

" You are right, segnora," answered don 
Christoval ;. " too great severity is Tsaid 
to be Ambrosio*s only fault. Exempted 
himself from human feelings, he is not suf- 
ficiently indulgent to those of (rthers ; and 
though strictly just and disinterested in his 



42 TH£ MONK^ 

dedsionsy his government of the monkj$^ 
has already shewn some proofs of his in^ 
flexibility. But the crowd is nearly dissi- 
pated : will you permit us ta attend you 
home ?'* 

" Oh Christ ! segnor," exclaimed Leo^ 
nella, afiecting to blush, ** I Would not 
suffer such a thing for the universe ! If I 
came home attended by so gallant a cava^ 
lier» my sister is so scrupulous that slie 
would read me an hour's lecture, and I 
should never liear the last of it. Besides,. 
I rather wish you not to make your pro^ 
posals just at present." 

" My proposals ! I assure you, segno- 
ra '' 

" Oh, segnor, I believe that your assu- 
rances of impatience are all very true ; but 
really I must desire a little respite. It 
would not be quite so delicate in me to ac* 
cept your hand at first sight." 

" Accept my hand ! As I hope to liver 
and breathe — j— " 

**0h, dear segnor, press me no; further^ 



THE MONK. 45 

if y6U love me, I shall consider your obe(- 
dience as a proof of your affection ; you 
shall hear from me to-morrow, and so fare- 
well But pray, cavaliers^ may I not in- 
quire your names?" 

" My fri«ndV' replied Lorenzo, ** is 
the conde d'Ossorio, and mine Ijorenzo de 
Medina." 

" Tis sufficient — Well, don Lorenzo, I 
shall acquaint my sister with yoktr obliging 
offer, and let you know the result with all 
expedition. Where may I send to you ?" 

" I am always to be found at the Medina 
palace." 

" You taay depend upon hearing from 
me. Farewell, cavaliers. Segnor cond^, 
let me entreat you to moderate the exces- 
sive ardour of your passion. However, to 
prove that I am^not displeased with you, 
and prevent your abandcming yourself to 
despair, receive this mark of my aflFection, 
and sometimes bestow a thought upon the 
absent Leonella." 

As she said this she extended a lean an4 



44 tH£ HONK. 

wrinkled hand, winch her supposed ad-^ 
fmrer kissed with such sotry grace, and con- 
straint so evident, thut Lorenao with diiil- 
culty repressed his inclination to laugh. 
Leonella then hastened to quit the chui^h : 
the lovdy Ahtonia followed her in silence; 
but when she reached the porch, she turn- 
ed involuntarily, and cast back her eyes^ 
towards Lorenzo. He bowed to her, as 
bidding her farewell; she returned the 
comfdiment, and hastily withdrew. 

''So, Lorenzo," said don Chrii^val, as 
soon as they were alone, " you have pro- 
cured me an agreeable intrigue ! To fa- 
vour yourdesagns upon Antonio, I bWig- 
ingly make a few civil speechei^ which mean 
nothing to the aunt, and at the end of au 
hour I find myself upon the brink of ma- 
trimony ! How will you reward me^ for 
having suffered so grievously fdr your sake? 
whJEit can repay me, for having kissed the 
leathern paw of that confounded old witch? 
Diavolo ! She has left such a scent upon 
my lips, that I shall smell of garlic^ for 



TftE MONK. 45 

this month to come. As I pass along the 
Prado, I shall be taken for a walking ome- 
let, or some large onion running to seed.'** 

^ I confess, my poor count," replied Lo- 
renzo, "that your service has been attended 
with danger ; yet am I so fiir from suppos- 
ing it to be past all endurance, that I shaH 
probably solicit you to carry on your amour 
still further." 

^*From that petition, I conclude that 
the little Antonia has made some impres- 
sion upon you ?* 

^* I cannot express to you how much I 
tim charmed with her. Since my father's 
death, my uncle, the duke de Medina, has 
signified to me his wishes to see me mar- 
ried ; I have till now eluded his hints, and 
refused to understand them ; but what I 
Jiave seen this evening " 

" WeD, what have yoa seen tliis even- 
ing ?-*- Why surely^ don Lorenzo, you can-- 
not be mad enough to think of making a. 
wife out of this granddaughter of * as ho- 



46 ^H£ MONK. 

nest a pains-taking shoemaker as any in 
Cordova ?" 

^^* You forget that she is also the grand- 
daughter of the late marquis de las Cister- 
mis. But without disputing about birth 
and titles, I muist assure you tha I never 
beheld a woman so interesting as Antonia«" 
. *' Very possibly ; but you cannot mean 
to marry her ?'* 

" Why not, my dear cond^ ? I shall 
have wealtli enough for both of us ; and 
you know that my uncle thinks liberally 
upon the subject. From what I have seen 
of Raymond de las Cisternas, I am certain 
that he will readily acknowledge Antonia 
for his niece. Her birth, therefore, will 
be no objection to my offering her my hand. 
1 should be a villain, could I think of her 
on any other terms than xnarriage; and in 
truth she seems possessed of every^ quality 
requisite to mak« me happy in a wife: 
young, lovely, gentle, sensible—- — ** 

. ^* Sensible ! — Why, she said nothing but 
yes and no.** 



*^'She did not say m- ch more, I must 
<confessi but then she always said yes or no 
in the right place.** 

" Did she so ? oh, your most obedient ! 
that is using a right lover's argument; and 
I dare dispute no longer with so profound 
a casuist. S^ippose we adjourn to the co- 
medy ?" 

" It is out of my power : I only arrived 
last night at Madrid, and have not yet had 
an opportunity of seeing my sister. You 
know that l>6r convent is in this street, and 
I was going thither when the crowd which 
I saw thronging into this church excited 
my curiosity to know what was the mat- 
ter. I shaH now pursue my first intention, 
and probably pass the evening with my sis-. 
ter at the parlour-grate." 

" Your sister in a convent, say you ? — 
0h, very true; I had forgotten. And 
how does donna Agnes ? I am amazed^ 
don Lorenzo, how you could possibly 
tliink of immuring so charming a girl with- 
in the walls erf a cloister V • 



f $ TTHE MONK* 

: "^^ th^nt of it, dpa Christoyal 1 bow can 
you suspect me <^ such barbarity? You 
are conscious that she took the veil by bar 
Own desire, and that particular c}rcumstan« 
ees made her wish for a sedusi^cm frcwn the 
world. I u$ed every means in my power 
to induce her to change her re^oluticHi; 
the endeavour was fruitless, and I lost a 
sister." 

*' The luckier fellow you: I thinks Lo 
r^2», you were a considerable, gainer by 
that loss ', if I remember right, donna Ag- 
nes had a portion of ten thousand pistoles, 
half of which reverted to your lordship. 
.By St Jago i I wish that I had fifty sisters 
in (he same predicament. I should con- 
setit to losing them every soiil wii^out 
much heart-burning.'* 

•* How, c(md6 1" sai^ ljdrm%o, in an 
^ngry voice; ** do you suppose me biawe 
enough to haye iii^uenced my sister's re- 
tif ement ? do you suppose that ^ despi*. 
cable, wish to make myself master of her 
fortune could-T—:-" 



THE MOKK. 49 

** •Admirable ! Courage, don Lorenzo ! 
^ow the man is all In a blaze. God grant 
that Antonia may soften that fieiy temper, 
or we tShall certainly cut each other's 
throat before the month is over! How- 
ever, to prevent such a tragical cata- 
strophe for the present, I shall make a re- 
treat, and leave you master of the field. 
Farewell, my knight of mount iEtna! 
Moderate tliat inflammable disposition, and 
remember that, whenever it is necessary to 
make love to yonder harridan, you may 
reckon upon my services-'' He said, and 
darted out of the cathedral. 

" How wild-brained T sani Lorenzo. 
*' With so excellCTit a heart, what pity 
that he possesses so little solidity ef judg- 
ment r 

The night was now &st advancing. The 
lamps vrete not yet lighted ; the &int 
beams of the rising ntuxm scarcely. could 
pierce through the gothic obsoiirily of the 
church. Lorenzo found himself unable to 
quit the spot. The void left in his bosom 

VOJ.. I. D 



0- 



60 THE MONK. 

by Antcmia's absence^ and his sister's sacri- 
£ce, which don Christoval had just recalled 
to his imagination, created that melancholy 
of mind which accorded but. too well with 
the religious gloom surrounding him. He 
was still leaning against the seventh co- 
lumn from the pulpit. A*soft and cooling 
mr breathed along the solitary aisles ; the 
moonbeams darting into the church through 
painted windows, tinged the fretted roofs 
and massy pillars with a thousand various 
shades of light and colours. Universal si- 
lence prevailed around, only interrupted 
by the occasional closing of doors in the ad- 
joining abbey. 

The cahn of the hour and solitude of tbft 
place contributed to nourish Lorenzo's dis- 
position to melancholy. He threw him- 
self upon a seat which stood near him, and 
abandoned himself to the delusions of his 
fancy. He thought of his union with An- 
4onia ; he thought of the obstades which 
might oppose his wishes, and a thousand 
dban^ng visions floated before his fimcy-^ 



V 



THE MONK. SI 

^d, ^G.s true, but not uhpleamyg. Sleep 
insensibly stole over him ; and the tranquH 
^olenmify of his mind, when awake, ibr a 
while ooittinued to influence his slumbers. 

He still fancied himself to be in the 
church of the Capuchins ; but it was no 
longer dark and sotitary. Multitudes of 
silver lamps shed splendour from the vault 
ed roofs ; accompanied by the captivating 
cfaaunt of distant chorLsters, the organ'S4n&- 
lody swelled through the church : die altar 
iseemed decorated as for some distinguish- 
ed feast ; it was surrounded by a brilliant 
<:oxnpany, and near it stood Antonia ar- 
I'ayed in bridal white, and blushmg with 
^1 the charms .of virgin modesty. 

Half hoping, half feiuing, Lorenzo gaa^ 
ed upon tbe scene before him. Suddenly 
the door leading to the abbey unclosed; 
^nd he saw, attended by a long train of 
*n6nfcs, the preacher advance, to whom he 
^^ Just listened with so much admiration^ 
He drew near Antonia. . \ * 

Da \ ^ ' 



82 THE MONK. 

'< And where is the bridegixxAn ?" sawL 
the imaginary friar. 

Antonia seemed to look round thechuixsit 
with anxiety. Involuntaiily the youth ad- 
vanced a few steps from his ix>ncealment. 
She saw him ; the blush of pleasure glow* 
edupon her cheek; with a graceful mo* 
tion of her hand she beckoned to him to 
advante. He disobeyed not the command ; 
he iew towards her, and threw himself at 
her feet 

She retreated for a moment; then gaz«- 
ing upon him with unutterable delight>-^ 
** Yes,"* she exclaimed, " my bridegroom I 
my destined bridegroom !'* She said, and 
hasten^ to throw herself into his arrna ; 
but before he had time to recehre her, an 
unknown rushed between them : his fotnt. 
was^gantic, lus complexion was swarthy^ 
his ey^ fierce and tarible; his mouth 
breathed out volumes of fire, and on hii^ 
forehead was written, in legible chiucactersi^ 
^ Pride !. Lust I Inhumanity T , 



THE MOTTSr. 53r 

• Antonia shrieked. The monstei^ clasp- 
cd her in his arms, and, springing with her 
upon the altar, tortured her with his odi- 
ous caresses. She endeavoured in vain to 
escape from his embrace. Lorenzo flew to- 
her succour ; but ere he had time to reach 
her, a loud burst of thunder was heard. 
Instantly the cathedral seemed crumbling 
into pieces ; the monks betook themselves 
to flight, shrieking fearfully ; the lamps 
were extinguished, the altar sunk down, 
and in its place appeared an abyss, vomit* 
kig forth douds of flame. Uttering. a 
loud and temble cry, the monster plunged 
into the gulf, and in his fall attempted to 
drag Antonia with him. He strove in 
vain. Animated by supematurid powers, 
she disengaged herself from his embraces ; 
But her white robe was left in his posses- 
sion. Instantly a wing of brilliant splen-f . 
dour spread itself from either of Antonia's 
arms. She darted upwards, and, while ^-- 
qending, cried to Lor^ao— ** Friend \ vie 
shall meet above T ^ ' * 

nS 



34t THE MONX:. 

At the same moment, the roof of the ca^ 
thedral opened ; harmonious voices pealed 
along the vaults, and the glory into which 
Antonia was received was composed of 
rays of such dazzling brightness that Lo- 
renzo was unable to sustain the gaze. His 
sight failed, and he sunk upon the ground. 

When he awoke, he found himself ex-^ 
tended upon the pavement of the church : 
it was illuminated, and the chaunt of 
hymns sounded from a distance. For a 
while liOrenzo could not persuade hioi^ 
self that what he had just witnessed had 
been a dream,, so strong an impression had 
it made upon his fancy*. A little recollec- 
tion convinced him of its fellacy : the 
lamps had been lighted during his sleep r 
and the mnsh which he heard was oc- 
casioned by the morrks^ who were celebrat- 
ing their vespers in the abbey-chapeL 

Xiorenzo rose^ add prepared to bend his^ 
rteps^ towards his sister's convent^ his mind- 
fliHy occupied by the singularity of bis- 
dream^ H6 already drew near the porch>. 

r 



THE MONK. 55 

when his attention Vtbs attracted by pet-' 
eeiving a shadow moving upon the oppo- 
site wall. He looked curiously round» 
and soon descried a man wrapped up in 
his doaki who seemed carefully examin- 
ing whether his actions were observed. 
Very few people are exempt froui the in- 
fluence of curiosity. The unknown seem- 
ed anxious to conceal his business in the 
cathedral; and it was this very circum- 
stance which made Lorenzo wish to dis- 
cover what he Was about. 

Our hero was .conscious that he had no 
right to pry into the secrets of this un- 
known cavalier. 

** I will go," said Lorenzo — and Lo- 
renzo staid V, here he was. 

The shadow thrown by the column ef- 
fectually concealed him from the stranger, 
^ho continued to advance with caution. 
At length he drew a fetter from beneath 
his cloak, and hastily placed it beneath a 
colossal statue of saint Francis. Then re- 
tiring with precipitation, he concealed 

D 4 



56 THE MONK. 

himself in a part of the church at a consi^ 
derable distance from that in which the 
image stood. 

" So," said Lorenzo to himself, " this is 
only some foolish love affair. I believe 
I may'as well be gone, for I can do no 
good in it.'* 

In truth, till that moment, it never 
came into his head that he could do any- 
good in it; but he thought it necessary 
to make some little excuse to himself for^ 
having indulged his curiosity. 

He now made a second attempt to re- 
tire from the church. For this titfte, he 
gained the porch without meeting with 
any impediment ; but it was destined that 
he should pay it another visit that night. 
As he descended the steps leading into 
the street, a cavalier rushed against him 
with such violence, that both were nearly 
overturned by the concussion. Lorenzo 
put his hand to his sword. 

" How now, segnor !" said he ; ** what 
mean you by tliis rudeness ?" 



THE MONK. 57 

^ Ha ! is it you» Medina ?" replied the 
new com^, whom Lorenzo, by his voice, 
nowreoognizedfordcm ChristovaL *'You 
are the luckiest fellow in the universe, 
not to have left the church before my re- 
turn. Inr in, my dear lad! they wUl be 
hdie immediately T 

•* Who will be here ?•• 
. " The old hen and all her pretty little 
ehickens. In,. I say, and then yoa shall 
know the whole history." 

Liorenzo followed him into the* cathe- 
dral,: and they ccmcealed themsdtves be- 
hind the statue cfssmt Francis. 

" And now," said our hero, " may I 
take* the liberty of asking what is the 
meaning of all tUs haste and rapture ?" 

'^ Oh( Lorenzo, we shall see such a 
glorious sight! The prioress of saint 
Clare and her whole train of nuns are 
coming hither. You are to know, that 
the pious father Ambrosio (the Lord re-i 
ward him for it !) will upon no account 
move out of his own preciucts.. It b^ing 

B 5 



58^ Vne HONE. 

absoluf^y necessavy for evei^ fishidna^fe' 
Qonremt to have him for its conftasor, thes 
nims are in conseqaenoe obliged to Tisitr 
him at the abbey ; since, when the moun-: 
tain will not come ta Mahomet, Mafabmet^ 
musrt needs go to the mountain. N«w 
the prioress of saint Clase, the better to 
escape the gaze df such impure eyes as be-- 
long to yourself and your humUeservant^, 
^nks proper to bring her holy flock to- 
confession in the . dusk : she is to be ad- 
mitted into the abbey-diapel by yon pri-- 
vate docn*. The pnorteiess^ of saint Clare,, 
who is a worthy old souly and. a particular' 
friend of mine, has just assured me of their 
being here in a few moments. There i& 
news for you, you rogue ! We shall see^ 
some of the prettiest face^ in Madrid !*** 

** In truth, Christoval, we shall do na^ 
such thing. The nuns are always veiled,'^ 

** No, no, I know better. On ei^tering: 
a place of worship, they ever take off their 
veils, fpom respect to the saint to whom- 
'tis dedieated. But luffk f they aee coming t 



TH£ MONS. 59 

Silence! silence! observe, and be con^ 
viaced.''* * 

" Good I" said Lorenzo to himself ; **'I 
may possibly discover to whom the vows 
are addressed of this mysterious stranger. *' 

Scarcely had don Christoval ce^ised to 
speak, when the domina of saint Clare ap- 
peared, followed by a long procession of 
nuns. Each upon entering the church 
took off her veil. The prioress crossed 
her hands upon her bosom; and made a 
profound reverence as she passed the sta- 
tue of saint Francis, the patron of this ca- 
thedral. The nuns followed her example, 
and several moved onwards without hav- 
ing satisfied Lorenzo's curiosity. He al- 
most began to despair of seeing the mys- 
teiy cleared up, when in paying her respect 
to saint Francis, one of the jiuns happened 
to drop her rosary. As she , stooped' to . 
pick it up, the light flashed full in her 
face.' At the same moment, she dexter-. ! 
ously removed the letter from bene^h 

d6 



60 THE MONK. 

the image, placed it in her bosom, and 
hastened to resume her rank in the pro^ 
cession. 

*• Ha !" said Christoval in a low voice, 
*^ here we have some httle intrigue, no 
doubt.** 

•*' Agnes, by Heaven T cried Lorenzo. 

** Wliat, your sister ? Diavolo !— Then 
somebody, I suppose, will have to pay for 
our peeping.'* 

•* And shall pay for it without delay,'^ 
replied the incensed brother. 

The pious procession had now entered 
the abbey; the door was already closed 
upon it. The unknown immediately quit- 
ted his concealment, and hastened to leave 
the church : ere he could eflTecf his inten- 
tion, he descried Medina stationed in his 
passage. The stranger hastily retreated, 
and drew his bat over his eyes. 

" Attempt not to fly me !" exclaimed 
Ijorenzo ; " I will know who you are, and 
what were the contents of that letter.'*. 

" Of that letter!" repeated the m- 



THE MONK. 61 

known : ** and by what title do you ask 
the question ?" 

** By a title of which I am now ashamed ; 
but it becomes not yon to question ^mer 
either reply circumstantially to my de- 
mands; or answer me with your sword.'* 

^ Tb^ latter method will be the short- 
est," rejoined the other, drawing his rapier. 
" Come on, segnor Bravo ! I am ready.** 

Burning with rage, Lorenzo hastened 
to the attack : the antagonists had already 
exchanged several passes, before Christo- 
val, who at that moment had more sense 
than either of them, could throw himself 
between their weapons. 

** Hold ! hold, Medina !'* he exclaimed : 
" remember the consequences of shedding 
blood on consecrated ground P 

The stranger immediately dropped his 
sword. — *^ Medina!" Jie cried. " Great 
God ! is it possible ? Lor«izo, have you 
quite forgotten Raymond de las Cister- 
nas?" 

Lorenzo's astonishment increased with 



*^fll THE MONK- 

every succeeding moment. Raymond dd** 
vanced towards him ; but with a look of 
suspicion he drew back his hand, which 
the other was preparing to take* 

" You here, marquis! What is the 
meaning of all this ? You engaged in a 
clandestine correspondence with my sister, 
whose affections " 

" Have ever been, and stiU are, mine. 
But this is no fit place for an explanation ; 
accompany me to my hotel, and you shall 
know every thing. Who is that with 
you ?'* 

" One whom I believe you to have seen 
before," replied don Christoval, "though, 
probably not at church." 

« The cond^ d'Ossorio ?" 

" Exactly so, marquis." 

"I have no objection, to entrusting^you 
with my secret, for l' am sure that I may 
depend upon your silence." 

** Then your opinion of toe is better , 
than my own, and therefore I must beg. 
leave to decline your confidence. J)o you 



go yotir'own way, and I shall go mine* 
Marquis, where are yoti to be found ?** 

** As usual, at the hotel de las Cister- 
has ; but remember that I am incognito^ 
aiid that, if you wish to see me, you must 
ask for Alphonso d'Alvarada." 

Gkx)d! good! Farewell, cavaliers T said 
don Christoval, and instantly departed. 

" You, marquis,'* said Lorenzo, in the 
accent of surprise^ " you Alphonso d'Al^- 
varada T 

** Even so, Lorenzo : but unless you 
have already heard my story from your 
sister, I have much to relate that will 
astonish you. Follow me, therefore, to 
my hotel without delay.'* 

At this moment the porter of the Capo- 
chins entered the cathedral to lock up the 
doors for the night. The two noblemen 
instantly withdrew^ and hastened with all 
speed to the palace de las Cistemas. 



** Well, Antonia," said the aunt, as soon 



64 THE MONK. 

as she had quitted the church, ^* what think 
you of our gallants? Don Lorenzo really 
seems a very obliging good sort of young 
man: he paid you somie attention^ and 
Aobody knows what may not come of it.: 
But as to don Christoval, I protest to you 
he is the vei'y phoenix of politeness ; so 
gallant ! so well bred !' so sensible, and so 
pathetic ! Well, if evef man can prevail 
Upon^ me to break my vow never to marry,; 
it will be that don Christoval, You see, 
niece, that every thing turns out exactly 
as I told you : the very moment that I 
produced myself in Madrid, I knew that 
I should be surrounded by admirei*s. When 
I took off my veil, did you see, Alitonia,. 
what an effect the action had upon the 
cond^ ? and when I presented him my. 
hand, did you observe the air of passion, 
with which he kissed it ? If ever I wit- 
nessed real love, I then saw it impressed^ 
upon don Christoval's countenance !" 

Now ATftonia had observed the air with 
which don Christoval had kissed this same 



THE MONK. 65 

hand ; but as she drew conclusions from 
it somewhat different from her aunt's^ she 
was wise enough to hold her tongue. As* 
this is tlie only instance known of a wo- 
man's ever having done so, it was judged 
Worthy to be recorded here. 

The old lady continued her discourse 
to Antonia in the same strain, till they 
gained the street in which was their lodg^ 
ing. Here a crowd collected before their 
door permitted them not to approach it ;- 
and placing themselves on the opposite 
side of the street, they endeavoured ta 
make out what had drawn all these people 
together. After some minutes the crowd 
formed itself into a circle ; and now An* 
tenia perceived in the midst of it a wo- 
man of extraordinary height, who whirled 
herself repeatedly round and round, using 
all sorts of extravagant gestures. Her 
dress was composed of shreds of various 
coloured silks and linens, fantastically ar- 
ranged, yet not entirely without* taste. 
Her head was covered, witli a kind of tur- 



y 

.4 



0^ THE ttONS. 

bail, ornamented with vine-leaves and wil^ 
flowers. She seemed much sun-burnt, 
and her complexion was of a deep olive: 
her eyes looked fiery and strange; and in 
her hand she bore a long black rod, with 
which she at intervals traced a variety of 
singular figures upon the ground, round 
about which she danced in all the eccen- 
tric attitudes of folly and delirium. Sud- 
denly she broke off her dance, whirled Hfer- 
self round thrice with rapidity, and after 
a morhent's pause, she sung the followihg 
ballad : — 

THE GIFSnr*S SOITG. 

Come, cross my hand ! mjr art surpaaset 

All that did ever mortal know : 
Cotne^ maidensy come ! my magic glasseSv 

Your, future husband^s form cao shew t 

r 

For 'tis to me the power is givefi, 
. UnclosM, the book of Fate to see ; 
To read the fixM resolves of lieaveiiy 
And dire into futurity. 



I guide the pale inooo*s silver waggon; 

The winds in magic bonds I hold ; 
Z charm to sleep the crimson dragon. 

Who loyes to watch o'er buried gold. 

Fenc'd round with spells, unhurt I venture^ 
Their sabbath strange where witches keep f 

Fearless the sorcerer's circle enter^ 
And woundless tread on snakes asleep. 

Lo ! here are charms of mighty power T 
This makes secure a husband's truth ;^ 

And this, composed at midnight hour,. 
Will force to love the cold^^st youth. 

If any maid too much has granted, 

Her loss this philtre will repair ; 
This blooms a cheek where red '» wanted,. 

And this will make a brown girl fair. 

Then silent hear, while I discover 

What I in Fortune's mirror view; 
And each, when many a year is over. 

Shall own the gips^^s sayings true.'^ 

^ Dear aunt,'* said Antonia, when the 
stranger had finished, " is she not mad ?'* 
Mad ! Not she, child ; she is only 



u 



fig: THE mgne:^ 

wicked. She is a gipsy, a sort of vaga^ 
bond, whose sole occupation is to run about 
the country telling lies, and pilfering 'from* 
diose who come by their money honestly. 
Out upon such vermin ! If I were king 
of Spain, eyepy ©»e of them should her 
burnt alive, who was found iii my domi- 
nions after the next three weeks.-* 

These words were pronounoed so audi- 
bly, that they reached the gipsy's ears- 
She immediately pierced through the 
crowd, and made towards the ladies. She 
saluted them thrice in the eastern &shion,. 
and then addressed herself to Antbnia: 



i 



^ Lady, gentte ladjr !: knovr 
I your future fkte can shew; 
Give your hand, and do not fear-;- 
Lady, gentle lady, heai^i*^ 

•^ Dearest aunt,*' said Antonia, ** indulge' 
me this once !a let me have my fortune 
told me !** 



THE KOKK. ^9 

^ Nonsense, child ! she will ieU you no- 
:thing but fiilsehoods.*' 

** No matter ; let me at least hear what 
she has to say. Do, my dear aunt, oblige 
me, I beseech you !" 

** Well, well, Autonia, since you are so 
>bent upon tbe thing— Here, good woman, 
you shall see the hands of both of us. 
"There is money for you, and now let me 
hear my fortune.** 

As she said f his, she drew off her 
glove, and presented her hand, The gip- 
sy looked at it for a moment, and then 
made this reply.:-— 

** Your fortunel — ^you are now so old, 
<jroo!d dame, that 'tis already told : 
Yet,Yor yoar money, in a triee 
I will repay yoa in adrice. 
Astonish'd.%t<yoiir childish vanity, 
Xotir friends t»U tax yoa with insanity, 
And grieve to see you. use your art 
To Caleb Mme youthful lover's heart. 






^ THE MONIC. 

Believe me. dame, when all is dooet 
Your age will still be fiftj-ooe ; 
And men will rarely take a hint 
Of love from two grey eyes that squint. 
Take thea my counsels : lay aside 
Your paint and patches, lust and pride^ 
And on the poor tliose sums bestow^ 
Which now are spent on useless shew. 
Think on^our Maker, not a suitor; 
Think on your past faults, not on future; 
And think Time's scythe will quickly mow 
The few red hairs which deck your brow.*' 

* The audience rang with laughter dur- 
ing the gipsy's address ; and—** fifty-one 
— squmting eyes— red liair— pamt and 
patches," kc. were bandied from mouth 
to moutibi. Leonella was almost choked 
with passion, and loaded her malicious ad- 
viser with the bitterest reproaches. The 
swarthy prophetess for some time listened 
to her with a contemptuous smile. At 
length she made her a short answer, and 
then turned to Antonia : 



THE MONIC 71 

THE GIPSY. 

^ Peace, lady ! what I said was true. 
A«d DOW, my lovely maid ! to you : — 
Give me your hand, and let me see 
Your future doomi and Heaven's decree V* 

In imitation of Leonella, Antonia drew 
off her glove, and presented her white 
hand to the gipsy, who, having gazed 
upon it for some time, with a mingled 
expression of pky and astonishment, pro- 
nounced her oracle in the following words : 

THE Gipsr. 

'** Jesus ! what a palm is there ] 
Chaste and gentle, young and fair, 
Perfect mind and form possessing, 
You would be some good man's blessing; 
But, alas .! - this hne discovers * 

That destruction o'er you hovers: 
Lastful man and cralty devil. 
Will combine to work your evil; 
And from earth by Aorrows driven^ 
^0011 joor sold must speed to heayen* * 



72 THE MONK. 

Tet ^our sufferings to delay, 
Well remember what! say : 
Wlien you one more virtuous see 
Than belongs to man to be — 
One, whose self no crimes assailing, 
Pities not his neighbour's falling, 
'CJall the gipsy's words to mind : - 

Though he seem so good and kind* 
Fair exteriors oft will hide. 
Hearts tliat swell witli lust and pride. 

** Lovely maid^ with tears I leave youi 
Xet not my ..prediction grieve you ; 
Rather, with submission bending, 
«Calraly wait distress impending, 
And expect eternal bliss 
In a better, world than jthie.'*' 

Having saidihis, the gipsy again whirl* 
^d herself round thne^, and then ha&tened 
out of the street with frantic ge&ture. 
The crowd followed her; and Elvira's 
door being now unembarrassed^ Leonella 
entered the house, out of Jiumour with 
the gipsy, with her niece, and with the 
people; Ib short, with ^very body but 



THE MONK. 78 

lierself and her charming cavalier. The 
gipsy's predictions had also considerably 
afiected Antonia ; but the impression soon 
viTore off, and in a few hours she had for- 
gotten the adventure, as totally as had it 
never taken^^place. 



VOL. 1. >- 



74 THE MONK. 



CHAPTER II. 



Fbrse s^ tu gustassi una sbl volta 

La mill^sima parte d^Ue gibje, 

Ch^ gusta UD cbr amato riamando, 

Direst! ripen tita sospirando, 

Perduto ^ tutto il tempo 

Ch6 in amar non si sp^nde. Tassow 

Hadst thou but tasted once the thousandth p^rt 
Of joys, which bless the lov*d and loving heart, 
Your words repentant and your sighs would proTe 
Lost is the time which is not passM in love. 

The monks having attended their abbot 
to the door of his cell, he dismissed thenni 
with an air of conscious superiority, in 
which humility's semblance combated with 
the reality of pride. 
He was no sooner alone, than he gave 



THE MOKK. 16 

free loo8e to the indulgenoe cf his vanity. 
When he remembered the enthusiasm 
whidi hifi discourse had excited^ his heait 
swelled with rapture^ aiid his imaginatioA 
presented him with qdendid risions of 
aggtandLeeonent He looked round him 
with exultation ; and pride told him loud^ 
Iji that he was lupmor to the rest of bi^ 
feUow^creatures. 

'' Who," thought he^ •* who but m j- 
sdf bos passed the ordeal of youth, yet 
sees no single stain upon his conscience ? 
Who else has subdued the violence of 
strong passions, and an impetuous tein* 
perament, and submitted, even from th6 
dawn of life, to vduntary retirement ? I 
seek for such a man in vain. I see no one 
but myself possessed of such resolution. 
Religion cannot boast Ambrosio's e^ual ! 
How powerful an eflfect did my discourse 
produce upon its auditors! How they 
crowded round me ! How they loaded 
me with benedictions, and pronounced me 
the sole iincorrupted pillar o£ the church! 

e2 



76 THE MONK. 

What then now is left for me to do? No^ 
thing, but to watch as carefully over the 
conduct of my brethren as I have hither- 
to watched over my own. Yet hold! 
May I not be tempted from those paths, 
which) till now, I have pursued without 
one moment's wandering ? Am I not a 
man, whose nature is frail and prone to 
error ? I must now abandon the solitude 
of my retreat: the fairest and noblest 
dames of Madrid continually present 
themselves at the abbey, and will use no 
other confessor. I must accustom my 
eyes to objects of temptation, and expose 
myself to the seduction of luxury and de- 
sire. Should I meet, in that wcH'ld which 
I am constrained to enter^ some lovely fe- 
male — lovely as yon Madon a !" 

As he said this, he fixed his eyes upon 
a picture of the Virgin, which was sus- 
pended opposite to him: this for two 
years had been the object of his inoreasing 
wonder and adoration. He paused, and 
gazed upon it with delight 






THE MONK. 77 

" What beauty in that countenance !" he 
continued, after a silence of some minutes; 
" how gracefiil is the turn of that head ! 
what sweetness, yet what majesty in her 
divine eyes ! how softly her cheek reclines 
upon her hand ! Can the rose vie with 
the blush of that cheek ? can the lily rival 
the whiteness of that hand ? — Oh ! if such 
a creature existed, and existed but for me ! 
were I permitted to twine round my fin- 
gers those golden ringlets, and press with 
my lips the treasures of that snowy bo- 
som! — Gracious God! should I then resist 
the temptation ? — should I not barter, for 
a single embrace, the reward of my suffer- 
ings for thirty years ? — ^should I not aban* 
don — Fool that I am ! whither do I suf- 
fer my admiration of thi? picture to hurry 
me ? Away, impure ideas ! Let me re- 
member, that woman is for ever lost to 
me. Never wiis mortal formed so perfect 
as this picture. But even did such exist, 
the trial might be too mighty for a com- 
mon virtue ; but Ambrosio's is proof 

£ 3 



78 THE MONK. 

against temptation. Temptation, did I 
say?*^to me it would be none: what 
charms me, when ideal, and consideied as 
a superior bang, would disgust me, be- 
come woman, and tainted with all the 
failings of mortaHty. It is not the wo- 
man's beauty that fills me witii such en- 
thusiasm : it is the painter's skill that I 
admire^it is the divinity that I adore. 
Are not the passions dead in my bosom ? 
have I not freed myself from the frailty of 
mankind? Fear not, Ambrosio! take 
confidence in the strength of your virtue ; 
enter boldly into the world, to whose fail- 
ings you are superior ; reflect that you 
are now exempted from humanity^s de- 
fects, and defy all the arts of the spirits of 
darkness : they shall know you for what 
you are !" 

Here his reverie was interrupted by 
three soft knocks at the door of his cell : 
—with difficulty did tiie abbot awake 
from bis delirium ;'^-^the knocking was te- 
peatcu. 



THE MONK. 79 

*' Who is there?" said Ambrasio, at 
length. 
^ It is only Rosario," replied a gentle 

voice. 

" Enter, enter, my son P 

The door was immediately openedi, and 
Rosark) appeared with a small basket in his 
hand. 

Rosario was a yoimg novice belonging 
to the monastery, who in three months 
intended to make his profession. A sort 
of mystery enveloped this youth, which 
rendered him at once an object of interest 
and curiosity. His hatred of society, his 
profound melancholy, his rigid observance 
of the duties of his order, and his volun- 
tary seclusion from the worlds at his age 
so unusual, attracted the notice of the 
whole fraternity. He seemed fearful of 
being recognized, and no one had ever 
seen his fage. His l\ead was; coutiiuiuUy 
muflied up in his cowl ; yet such of his 
features as accident discovered a])p<ared 
the most beautiful and noble. Robario 

£ 4 



80 THE MONK. 

was the only name by which he was known 
in the moftastery. No one knew from 
whence he came; and, when questioned 
on the subject, he preserved a profound 
silence. A stranger, whose rich habit and 
magnificent equipage declared him to be 
of distinguished rank, had engaged the 
monks to receive a novice, and had depo- 
sited the necessary sums. The next day 
he returned with Rosario, and from that 
time no more had been heard of him. 

The youth had carefully avoided the 
company of the monks : he answered their 
civilities with sweetness, but reserve, and 
evidently shewed that his inclination led 
him to solitude. To this general rule the 
superior was the only exception. To him 
he looked up with a respect approaching 
idolatry : he sought his company with the 
most attentive assiduity, and eagerly seiz- 
ed every means to ingratiate himself in his 
favour. In the abbot's society his heart 
seemed to be at ease, and an air of gaiety 
pervaded his whole manners and dis- 



THE HONK. 81 

course. Ambrosio, on his side, did not 
feel less attracted towards the yxmth : with 
him alone did he lay aside his habitual 
severity ; when he spoke to him, he in- 
sensibly assumed a tone milder than was 
usual to him; and no voice sounded so 
sweet to him as did Rosario's. He re- 
paid the youth's attentions by instructing 
him in various sciences. The novice re- 
ceived his lessons with docility ; Ambro- 
sio was every day more charmed with the 
vivacity of his genius, the simplicity of 
his manners, and the rectitude of his heart : 
in short, he loved him with all the affec- 
tion of a father. He could not help some- 
times indulging a desire secretly to see 
the face of his pupil ; but his rule of self- 
denial extended even to curiosity, and pre- 
vented him from communicating his 
wishes to the youth. 

** Pardon my intrusion, father,** said Ro- 
sario, while he placed his basket upon the 
table; '* I come to you a suppliant- 
Hearing that a dear friend is dangerously 

£ 5 



S8 THE MONK. 

iU, I entreat your prayers fbr hk reoovay. 
If supplioationfi ean pMvail upon Heaven 
to spare him, surely yours must be effioa- 
eious." 

^ Whatever depends upon me, my Mnu, 
you know that you may oommand. Wlmt 
is your friend*s name ?* 

"^ Vineentio della Honda.'* 

*' 'Tis sufficient ; I will not forget hun 
in my prayers : and may our thrice-Uesft- 
ed St. Francis deign to Uisten to my in* 
tereessicw !-«<^Wfaat have yeas in your faosi- 
ke<v Rosario ?* 

^ A fbw of those flowcn^ rcnreiend fiu 
ther, wbidi I lurre observed to be moat 
aeeepteUe to yoiu Will yoiy permit nxy 
amaiging then in your diamber?'^ 

^Your attentions eharm me^ mysoni.'' 
• Wbiike Rosario dispersed the ccmtenta 
of his basket in small vases, placed for that 
purpose in rarioua parts of tile room^ the 
abbot thus continued the eon versatioiv :— 

^^ I saw you not in the oh web this ev€»^ 
iDg, Rosario." 



TB£ MONK. 88 

"Yet I was present, fiither: I am too 
grateful for your protection to lose an op- 
portunity of witnessing your triumph." 

^ Alas, Rosario, I have but little cause 
to triumph : the saint spoke l^ my 
mouth ; to him belongs all the merit. It 
seems, then, you were contented with my 
discourse ?" 

•* Contented, say you ! ' Oh, you sur- 
passed yourself ! — ^Never did I hear such 
doquence— save once !" 

Hear the novice heaved an invcduntary 
sigh. 

•• When was that once ?" demanded the 
abbot. 

" When you preached upon the sudden 
indisposition of our late superior." 

*• I remember it: that is more than 
two years ago. And were you present ? 
I knew you npt at that time, Rosario." 

" Tis true, father; and would to God I 
had exphred ere I beheld that day ! What 
su£ferings, what sorrows should I have es- 
caped!" 

£ 6 



84 THE MONK. 

" Sufferings at your age, Rosario?*' 

" Ay, father — sufferings, which, if 
known to you, would equally raise your 
anger and compassion — sufferings, which 
form at once the torment and pleasure of 
my existence. Yet in this retreat my 
hosom would feel tranquil, were it not for 
the tortures of apprehension. Oh Grod ! 
oh GkxJ ! how cruel is a life of fear ! — ^Fa- 
ther, I have given up all — ^I have aban- 
doned the world and its delights for ever ! 
nothing now remains, nothing now has 
charms for me, but your friendship, but 
your affection ! If I lose that, &ther«— oh, 
if I lose that, tremble at the effects of my 
despair !" 

" You apprehend the loss of my friend- 
ship ? How has my conduct justified this 
fear? Know me better, Rosario, and 
think me worthy of your confidence. 
What are your sufferings ? Reveal them - 
to me, and believe, that if 'tis in my power 
to relieve them '' 

'' Ah ! 'tis in no one's power but yours. 



THE MOKK. U 

Yet I must not let you know them. You 
would hate me for my avowal ; you would 
drive me from your presence with soom 
and ignominy." 

" My son, I conjure you — I entreat 
you—" 

" For pity's sake, inquire no further ! I 

must not — I dare not Hark ! the bell 

rings for vespers ! Father, your benedic* 
tion, and I leave you." 

As he said this he threw himself upon 
his knees, and received the blessing which 
he demanded. Then pressing the abbof s 
hand to his lips, he started from the 
ground, and hastily quitted the apartment 
Soon aifler Ambrosio descended to ves- 
pers, which were celebrated in a small 
chapel belonging to the abbey, filled with 
surprise at the singularity of the youth*s 
behaviour. 

Vespers being over, the monks retired 
to their respective cells. The abbot alone 
remained in the chapel, to receive the 
nuns of St. Clare. He had not been ]m% 



•6 THE iiOlfK. 

seated in the confessional chair, before the 
prioress made her appearance. Each of 
the nuns was heard in her turn, whik the 
others waited with the domina in the ad- 
joining vestry. Ambrosio listened to the 
confessions with attention, made many 
exhortations, enjoined penance proportion- 
ed to each offence, and fw some time every 
thing went on as usual : till, at last, one 
of the nuns, conspicuous fW>m the noUe- 
nesB of her air and elegance of her figure, 
carelessly permitted a letter to fall from 
her bosom. She was retiring, unconscious 
of her loss. 

Ambrosio supposed it to have been 
written by some one of her relations, and 
picked it up, intending to restore it to her. 
•— *• Stay, daughter,** said he ; ** you have 
letM -" 

At this moment, the paper being ak 
ready open, his eye involuntarily read the 
first words. He started back with surprise, 
l^he nun had turned round on hearing 
his voice : she perceived her letter in hk 



hand, and, uttering a shriek of terror, flevr 
hastily to regain it. 

*^ Hold r said the fiiar, in a tone of se- 
verity : '^ daughter, I must read this let- 
ter r 

** Then I am lost T she exclaimed, dagp^ 
ing her hands together wildly. 

All colour instantly faded from her ftee; 
she tremUed with agitation, and was 
obliged to fold her arms round a pillar of 
the chapel to save herself from sinking 
upon the floor. In the meanwhile, the 
abbot read the following lines :— 



^' All is ready &>r your escape, 
my dearest Agnes. At twdve to-mor- 
raw night I shall exp^t to find you at 
tbe gardefiHloor : I have obtained the key, 
and a few hours will sv^ce to place you 
iu a secure asylum. Let no mistaken 
scruples induce you to reject the certain 
imm^ of pie8(»rvii^ jwxx^eU and tl|e in- 



8ft THE MONK. 

nocent creature whom you nourish in 
your bosom. Remember that you had 
promised to be mine^ long ere you en- 
gaged yourself to the church ; that your 
situation wiU soon be evident to the pry- 
ing eyes of your companions ; and that 
flight is the only means of avoiding the 
effects of their malevolent resentment. 
Farewell, my Agnes ! my dear and des- 
tined wife ! Fail not to be at the gard^n- 
doojr at twelve." 



As soon as he had finished, Ambrosio 
bent an eye stem and an'gry upon the im- 
prudent nun. 

" This letter must to the prioress," said 
he, and passed her. 

His. words sounded like thundei; to her 
ears : she awoke fit>m her toi^id^N^ ooly 
to be sensible of the dangers of her situ- 
ation. She followed him hastfly, and de- 
tained him by. his garment. 

'^ Stay ! oh, stay T she cried^ in the ao- 



THE MONK. 89 

cents of despair, while she threw herself at 
the inarms feet, and bathed them with her 
tears. " Father, compassionate my youth ! 
—look with indulgence on a woman's 
weakness, and deign to conceal my frailty f 
The remainder of my life shall be em- 
ployed in expiating this single fault, and 
your lenity will bring back a soul to hea- 
ven T' 

•* Amazing confidence ! What ! shall 
St Clare's convent become the retreat of 
prostitutes ? Shall I suffer the church of 
Christ to cherish in its bosom debauchery 
and shame? Unworthy wretch! such 
lenity would make me your accomplice : 
--mercy would here be criminal. You 
have abandoned yourself to a seducer's 
lust; you have defiled the sacred habit 
by your impurity; and still dare you 
think yourself deserving my compassion ? 
Hence ! nor detain me longer. — ^Where is 
the lady prioress ?" he added, raising his 
voice. 

** Hold, fether ! hold ! Hear me but for 



90 THE MONK. 

one mdaoieiit ! Tax me not with impiiiv 
ty. nor think that I have eited from Ae 
warmth <^ temperament Long hef«e I 
took the veil, Raymond was master jof my 
heart: he inspired me with the purest, 
the most irreproachable passion, and was 
on the point' of becoming my lawful bus^ 
band. An horrible adventure, and the 
treachery of a relation, separated us from 
each other. I believed him for ever lost 
to me, and threw myself into a convent 
from motives of despair. Accident again 
united us ; I could not refuse myself the 
melancholy pleasure of mingling my tears 
with his. We met nightly in the gardens 
of St. Clare, and in an unguarded mo- 
ment I violated my vows of chastity. I 
shall soon become a mother.«~Reverend 
Ambrosio, take compassion on me ! take 
compassion on the imiocent being whose 
existence is attached to mine ! If you dis- 
cover my imprudence to the domina, both 
of us are lost. The punishment which 
the laws of St Clare assign to unfortu- 



THE MOKX. 91 

Dfties like myself is most severe and cruel. 
Worthy, worthy &ther ! let not your own 
untainted confidence render you unfeel- 
ing towards those less able to withstand 
temptation ! Let not mercy be the only 
virtue g£ whidi your heart is unsuscept- 
ible ! Pity me, most reverend ! Restore 
my letter, nor doom me to inevitable de- 
struction !^ 

" Your boldness confounds me. Shall 
Iconetei your crime? — I, whom you have 
deceived by your feigned confession?-— 
No, daughter, no ! I will render you a 
more essential service ; I will rescue you 
from perdition, in spite of yourself. Pen- 
aniee and mcwtification shall expiate your 
oflFence, and severity force you back to the 
paths of holiness.— What, ho ! Mother St. 
Agatha !" 

*' Father ! by all that is sacred — ^by all 
that is most dear to you, I supplicate, I 
entreat * 

*' Release me ! I will not hear you.—- 



92 THE MONK. 

Where is the domina? Mother St. Agatha, 
where are you ?" 

The door of the vestry opened, and the 
prioress entered the chapel, followed by 
her nuns. 

" Cruel! cniel t" exclaimed Agnes, relin- 
quishing her hold. 

Wild and desperate, she threw herself 
upon the ground, beating her bosom, and 
rending her veil, in all the delirium of 
despair. The nuns gazed with astonish- 
ment upon the scene before them. The 
friar now presented the fatal paper to the 
prioress, informed her of the manner in 
which he had found it, and added, that it 
was her business to decide what penance 
the delinquent merited. 

While she perused the letter, the domi- 
na's countenance grew inflamed with pas- 
sion. What ! such a crime committed in 
her convent, and made known to Ambro- 
siOi to the idol of Madrid, to the man 
whom she was most anxious to impress 



THE MONK. 9S 

with the opinion of the strictness and re- 
gularity of her house ! Words were inade- 
quate to express ha* fury : she was silent, 
and darted upon the prostrate nun looks of 
menace and malignity. 

" Away with her to the convent !" said 
she, at lengthy to some of her attendants. 

Two of the oldest nuns now approach- 
ing Agnes, raised her forcibly from the 
ground, and prepared to conduct her from 
the chapel. 

" What !" she exclaimed, suddenly, 
shaking off their hold with distracted ges 
tures, ** is all hope then lost ? already do 
you di'ag me to punishment ? — Where are 
you, Raymond ? Oh, save me ! save me !*' 
Then casting upon the abbot a fittntic 
look — " Hear me," she continued, " man 
of a hard heart ! Hear me, proud, stem, 
and cruel ! You could have saved me — 
you could have restored me to happiness 
and virtue — but would not : you are the 
destroyer of my soul ; you are my mur- 
derer, and on you all the curse of my 



94 THE MOHK. 

death and my unborn infioitf s ! ItiscAent 
in your yet-unshaken virttiey you &diaii* 
ed the prayers oft pemtent! But God will 
shew mercy, though you sioiew none. And 
where is the merit of your blaasted virtue? 
-*^what temptations have you vanquish- 
ed ? Coward ! you have fled from it, not 
opposed seduction ! But the day of trial 
will arriye. Oh then ! when you yield to 
impetuous passions^^wben ydu feel ^mt 
man is weak, and bom to ett'-^Vfhmi^ 
shuddering, you look back upon yiour 
crimes, and solielt, with terror, the ttke^ef 
of your God-^-oh ! in that fearful moment, 
think upon me l^^think upon your cruel: 
ty ! — ^think upon Agnes, a»d despaiif of 
pardon !" 

As she uttered these last Wofds, her 
strength was exhausted, and she sunk in- 
animate upon the bosom of a nun who 
stood near hen She was immediately con* 
vey ed from the dmpdl,) and b^ eofiopanions 
followed her. 

Ambroab had not listened to h«r iV^ 



THB MOKK. 95 

ptraehes without e&to^u : a secret pang 
at his heart made him feel that he had 
tmted this ttTifortimate with too great se- 
verity ; he therefore detained the prio- 
tem, and ventured to pronotmee some 
words in forour of the delinquent. 

'* Thif viokRme of her despair/' said h^, 
^ pfdvas that, at least, vice is not be- 
<torae familiaf to her. Perhaps, by treat- 
ing her witii somewhat less rigour than 
is generally pwictised, and mitigating, 
in some degt^, the acctfstomed pen- 



ancB"" > '' 



« Mitigate it, father!" interrupted the 
Wy prioress : ** not I, believe me. The 
faws of our order are strict and severe : 
they have &llen into diwse of late — but 
the ^ime of Agnes shews me the neces- 
»ty of their revival. I go to signify my 
intuition to the convent ; and Agnes shall 
be the first to feel the rigour of those kw^, 
which shafl be obeyed to the very letter. 
Father, iaMweli'' 



96 THE MONK. 

Thus saying, she hastaied out of the 
chapel. 

'' I have done my duty !" said Amlxosio 

to himself. 

Still did he not feel perfectly satisfied 
by this reflection. To dissipate the un- 
pleasant ideas which this scene had excited 
in him, upon quitting the chapel he de- 
scended into the abbey-garden. In all 
Madrid there was no spot more beautiful 
or better regulated. It was laid out witb 
the most exquisite taste: the choicest flow- 
prs adorned it in the height of luxuriance, 
and, though artfully arranged, seemed 
only planted by the hand of nature. 
Fountains, springing from basins of white 
marble, cooled the air with perpetual show- 
ers, and the walls were entirely covered 
by jessamine, vines, and honeysuckles. 
The hour now added to the beauty ci 
the scene. The fuU moon, ranging through 
a blue and cloudless sky, sheid upon the 
trees a trembling lustre, and the waters of 



Tfi£ MONK. 97 

the ibuntaina sparkled in the siLv^ famm ; 
tt gentle bre»e breathed the ftogr^noe of 
crange-bltMsoms along the dkys^ and the 
jiightingale poured forth her m^odiooi 
murmur from the shelter of an wrtiflcial 
wUdemess.-^Tfaitfaer the abbot bent hil 
steps. 

In the bosom of this liftle < gnyv0 stMd 
a rustic grotto, formed in inutation of ma 
jiermitnge. The walls were cooatrueted 
of roots of trees, and the inteyatices ^ed 
up with moss and ivy. . Seats of lurf were 
placed on either 6ide» and a natural casr 
isade fell from the rock above. Buried in 
himself, the monk approadbed the spot : 
the universal calm had eomiminicated k^ 
self to his bosom, and a voiuptuous traar 
Hjuillity spread hmguor through his soul. 

He reached the hermitage, and was eis^ 
tering to repose himself, when he stopped 
on piecccivattg it to be ahfeadjr ooeupiedb 
Extended upon one of ihe hanka lajr 9, 
man in a melancholy posture: his he^A 
was supportcfd u^pen liis>iirm» aod he a^m« 

TOL. I. P 



96 TOE MONK. 

ed lost in medit^on. The monk drew 
nearer, and recognized Bosario : he watch- 
ed hun in silence, and entered not the her- 
initsige. 

After some minutes,, the youth raised 
his eyes, and fixed them mournfully upon 

the opposite wall. 

M Yes,*' said he, with a deep and plain- 
tive sigh, '' I feel all the happiness of thy 
situation-^all the miseiy of my own. 
Ha{^y were I could I think like thee !— 
could I look like thee with disgust upon 
mankind^-^could bury myself for ever in 
4some impenetrable solitude, and f(»rget 
that the world holds beings deservii^ to 
be loved ! Oh God ! what a blessing would 
misanthropy be to me !" 

. ^ That is a singular thought, Rosario$" 
said the 4d>bot, entering the grotto. 
; ^ You here, reverend father T cried the 
novice; at the same time, Jst£|rting firom his 
{>labee in confission, he drew his cowl hasti- 
ly over his face. 

. Ambrosio seated himsdf upon the bank, 



TRE MONK. 99 

Bud obliged the youtii to place himself by 
him. 

** You most n6t indulge this disposition 
to mflancholy," said he : " what can possi* 
bly have made you view, in so desirable a 
light, misanthropy— of all sentiments the 
most hateful ?•* 

** The ^rusal of these •verses, fether, 
which till now had escaped my ohserva- 
?tion. The brightness of the moonbeams 
permitted my reading them ; and, .oh ! 
how I envy the feelings of <he wnter !** 

As he said this, 'he pointed to a marble 
tablet, fixed against the opposite wall : cm 
it were engraved the following Knes*: — 

iXSCRIPTIOIf in Alf HBRMITJiGE^ 

Whoe'er thou art these lines now reading; 
Think not, though from the world receding 
VI jojr my lonely days to lead in 

This desert dretr— 
ThatvM'ith remorse a conscience bleeding 

Hnth led me here^ 




100 THE JLONK. 

No tbougU of guilt Hi J bosom ibun : 
Free-wiird, I fled from courtljr bowers ; 
for well I Si^w, iii halls and towers. 

That Lust and Pride. 
The areh-fiend's dearest, darkest powers, 

In state preside. 

I saw mankind witb vice incrusted; 
I saw that bonoui^t sword was rusted; 
That few for aught but folly lusted ; 
That Im was «till d^eivsd who trusted 

In love or fi^iead ; 
^od hither .came, with uvea disgusted* 

My life to eod^ 



I9 ^is loM cvytt, in garments lowly, 

Alihe4 Am to noi^y foUy, ^ 

And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office b^ly 

Consume the day. 

Hiis rock my shield, when storms are blowing; 
The limpid streamlet yonder lowing 
Supplying drink; the earth bestowing 

My simple food; 
But few enjoy the cahn I know in 

^is desert rude. 



TBE MONK. 101 

Content aik«l cooUbrt bless me more in 

This groCy than e*er I fett before ia 

A pcUace ; and, with thoughts still soaring 

To God on high, 
Each night and mom, with voice imploring^ 

This wish I sigh :— 

^ Let the, oh Lord ! from life retire, 
Unknown eoeb goiltj worldly fife, 
Iteniorsefal throbror loose desire! 

Andiwiien Idi«> 
Let me io this belief eipire— 

ToOodlftyP 

Stranger ! if, full of youth and riot. 
As yet no grief has marrM thy qntet, 
Thoiv haply throw'st a soomfbl eye at 

-The Hermit's pmyerj 
Bat if thou hast a cause to sigh at 

Thy fiittlt, or care— 

If thou hast known false love'-s vexation, 

•i 

Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. 

And makes thee pine ; 
Oh, how must thou lament thy station, 

And envy mim ! 
^3 



lOS TH£ MONK* 

" Were it possible," said the ftiar, « for 
man to be so totally wrapped up in him^ 
self as to live in absolute seclusioit fiom' 
human nature, and could yet feel the con- 
tented tranquillity which these lines ex- 
press, I allow that the situation would be 
more desirable, than to live in a world so 
pregnant with every vice ai^ every folly: 
but this never can be. the eraser This in- 
scription was merely placed here for the 
ornament of the grotto, and Hie senti- 
ments and the hermit are equally imagi- 
nary. Man was born for society :, how- 
ever little he may be attached to the worlds 
he never can wholly forget it, or bear to 
be wholly forgotteix by it. Disgusted at 
the guilt or absurdity t^.mankii^, the 
misanthrope flies from it ; he resolves to 
become a hermit, and buries himself in 
the cavern of some gloomy rock. While 
hate inflames his bosom, possibly lip may 
feel contented with his situation; but 
when his passions begin to cool,..whe» 
time has mellowed his sorrows, and healed 



THE MONr. 103 

those wounds which he bore with him fo 
his solitude, think you that content be^ 
comes his companion ? Ah, no, Kosario ! 
No longer sustuned by the violence of hit 
passions, be feels all the monotony of his 
way of living, and his heart becomes the 
prey of ennui and weariness. He looks 
round, and finds himself alone in the utA- 
v«rse ; tbe love of sodety revives in his 
bosom, and he pants to return to thit 
world which be has abandoned. Nature 
loses all her charms in his eyes : no one is 
near him, to point out her beauties, or 
share 4n his admiration of hei^ excellence 
and variety. Prbpped upon the fragment 
of somie rock, he gases upon the tumbling 
water&U with a vacant eye ; he vi^ws^ 
without emotion, the glory of the setting 
sun ; slowly he returns to his cell at even- 
ing, for no one there is anxious for his ar- 
rival : he has no ciomfort in his solitary, 
uitsavoury meal ; he throws hknsdf upon 
his couch, of moss, desponde9t and di9$»' 

F 4» 



104 Tfi£ MOKK. 

tififieO, and wakes only to pass a day in 
joyless, as monotonous as the former." 

^^ You amasse me, father! Suppose 
that circumstances condonned you to so- 
litude, would not the duties of retina, 
and the consciousness cxf a life well spenti 
communicate to your heart that calm 
which-*-~-'^ 

'^ I should d^cdve myself, did I fiMy 
that they could. I am convinced 6^^^ 
contrary, and that all my fortitude wooli 
Hot prevent me irom yielding to melan^ 
vholy and disgust After consuming tiie 
day in study, if you knew my pleasure at 
meeting my brethren in the eyenuigf 
After passing nutny a long hoar in soli- 
tude, if I could express to you die joy 
which I feel at once more belKdding a fel- 
Jow-creature ! 'Tis in this particular that 
I place the jprindipal merit of a monastic 
institution. It secludes man firom the 
temptations of vice; it procures that lei*- 
mire necessary for the prop» service of the 



THE MONK. 105 

Supreme ; it spares him the mortificatiott 
of witnessing the crimes of the worldly^ 
and yet permits him to enjoy the bless- 
ings of society. And do you, Bosario, do 
you envy an hermit's life ? Can you be 
thus blind to the happiness of your situ« 
ation ?. Reflect upon it for a moment.-^ 
This abbey is become your asylum ; your 
regularity,' your gentleness, your talents, 
have reaadered you the object of universd 
esteem ; you are seduded from the tvorld^ 
tvhicfa yoft profess to hate — ^yet you re-^ 
mmsx m possession of the benefits of society, 
and that a sodety composed of the most 
estimable of mankind.'' . . ' 

'' Father! father! 'tis that whidi eai}se« 
my tormeniL Happy had it been for; tue, 
had my life been passed among the vidotis 
and gbandoned — had I never heard prot 
nounced the name of virtue. 'Tis my 
nxdxmnded adoration of ndigicm^-^-'tis my 
soulfs exquisite sensibility of the beauty 
ef iaar and good, that loads^ me wit& sl^ame 

F 5 



10(S THE Iconic: 

•^that bnrri^s me to perditidn. Oh« that I 
had never seen these abbey walls T 

** How, Rosftrit^? wheir we &St conver- 
sed, you spoke in a diifeicent tone. Is my 
friendship, then, become of such little con- 
seqiieince ? Had you never seen these 
abbey walls, you never had seen. me. Can 
that »ally be yonr wish ?' 

•* Had never seen you !*• r^peati&d thief 
novice, starting fram the bank, and ffSBSp^ 
ing the friar's hand with a frantic air*-^ 
t* you I you ! Would to God that figKt- 
ning had blasted them before ymt ev«r«et 
* my eyes^! would to God that I were neves 
to see you more, arid eould forget tha^ I 
had ever seen you !*'* 

With these words he flew ftastily frorri 
the grotto. Amflm>sio remained in bis 
former attitude, reflecting on^ the youth's 
unaccountable behaviour.. . He was in-^ 
dUned to siiqpect the denmgettient:ef his 
^^ senses; yet the general tenor of ins co»^ 
^nx^ the coivnexi^of faii> ideas, s^isaki^ 



» 



SHE xcnnc. xov^ 

ness of his demeanour, till ihe momieht of 
his quitting the grotto, seemed to dis- 
countenance tins conjecture. After a few 
minutes Rosario returned. He again seat- 
ed himself upon the bank — ^he reclined hia 
cheek upon one hand, and with the other 
wiffied away the tears which trickled from 
his eyes at intervals. "- 

The monk looked upon him with com- 
passion, and forbore to interrupt his me- 
ditations. Both observed for some time a 
profound silence. The nightingale had 
now taken her station upon att oi^nge 
tree, fronting the hermitage, and poured 
forth a strain the most melancholy and 
melodious. 

Rosario raised his head, and listened to 
her with att^tion. — ^* It was thus;'' said 
he, with a deep-drawn sigh, ^* it ^»s thua 
that, during the last month of her unhap 
py life, my sister used to sit listening to 
the nightingale. Poor Matilda ! she sleeps 
in the grave, and her broken heart throbs 
no ibore with passion.'' . ' 

r 6 



. « Ymihadasifiter?'* 

^ You ny rigbt^tiiat I had. Alas! I 
liove one no longer : the lonk bcnettdi the 
weight of her wmrvrs in the very spring 






^iS . 



« What were those sorrows ?^ 
- ** They will not exdte j^oi^ pity« Yatt 
know not the power of those irre^stible^ 
those &tal sentiments to which her heart 
^mwaprey. Father, she hved unfi)rtii<<^ 
niU;ely. A passidti for one endowed with 
every virtue, for a man — oh, rather let 
m0 8^y For a divinity — ^proved the bane 
i( her existence. His noble form, his 
spOtlie.ss character, his various tcdents^ hi« 
wisdom, solid, wonderful, and glcmons, 
might have warmed the. bosom of the 
most insensible. My sist^ saw him, and 
dEured to love, though she never dared td 
hope."* 

< ** If her love was so weli bestowed, what 
forbade her to liope the obtaining of its 
object ?* 

** Father, before lie knew her, Juliait 



TSE MOKK. ltd 

had alrestdy plighted his row$ to a bride 
itnostfidi:; most heavenly. Yet atillmy 
sifter loved, and for the husband's sake 
she idoted upon the wife. One momingr 
she found means to escape from our father's 
house : arrayed in humble weeds, she of* 
fered herself as a domestic to the consort 
of her beloved, and was accepted. She 
was now continually in his presence : she 
strove to ingratiate herself into his favour ; 
she succeeded. Her attentions attracted 
Julian's notice: the virtuous are ever 
gratelid, and he distinguished Matilda 
above the rest of her companions." 

^ And did not your parents seek for 
her ? Did they submit tamely to their 
losSj nor attempt to recover their wander- 
ing daughter ?'* 

'* £re they could find her, she discover- 
ed herself. Her love grew too violent for 
concealment ; yet she wished not for Jxx* 
lian's person-^sfae ambitioned but a share 
of his heart. In an unguarded moment 
she 4x>nfessed her affection. What was 



the return ? — Doting upon fais wife, and 
bdieving that a look of. pity bestowed 
spon another was a theft from what he- 
owed to her, he drove Matilda ftom his 
presence — ^he forbade her ever again ap- 
pearing before klih. His severity broke 
her heart: she returned to her fiither's, 
and in a few months after was eiirried to 
her grave;^ 

<* Unhappy girl ! Surely her fiirte was 
too severe, and Julian was too cru^'' 

♦* Do you think so, father?" cried the 
novice, with vivacity : '* dO you think that 
he was cruel ?" 

*' Doubtless I do, and pify her most sin- 
cerely*" f 
. ** You pity her ? you pity her ? Oh; 
father ! father ! then pity m e " 

The friar startfeds when, after a mo- 
ment's pause, Rosario added, with a faU 
tering vc»ce — *' For my sufferings are still 
greater : my sister had a friend, a reaX 
friend, who pitied the acuteness of her 
feelings, nor reproached her with her in« 



THE MONK: 

dbiKty to repress them. I — I have ncr 
friend ? The whole wide world cannot 
furnish: a heart that is willing to partidU 
pate in the sorrows* of mine." 

As he uttered these words, he sobbed 
audibly. The fnar wa» affiled. He took 
Rosano^s hand, and pressed it with, teri-f 
demess. 

** You hare no friend, siy you ? What 
then an> I? Why will you rtot confide 
in me? and what can you fear ? My se- 
verity ? Have I ever used it with you? 
The dignity of my habit ? Rosario, I lay 
aside the monk, and bid you consider me 
as no other than your friend, your father. 
WeU may I assume that title, for nevec 
did parent watch over a child more fondly 
than I have watched over you. From 
the mom^t in which I first beheld you, 
I perceived sensations in my bosom till 
thai unknown to me ; I found a delight 
in your society which no one's else could 
afford ; and when I witnessed the extend 
of your genius ^nd informatiotii, I rgoieed 



id does a father in the petfections of Ihs sqik 
Then lay aside youi^fearsr; speak td nfie with 
openfiess — speak' to me, Rosario; and say 
that you will confide in m^. If my aid or 
tny pity ean alleviate your cUstreasp^-^^*" 

*^ Yours canp-^yours only can. Ah^ fi^ 
ther ! how willingly woilldl uavdl to yoa 
my heart ! how willingly would I. dedard 
the secret which bows me dawn with itis 
Wfe^ht! But oh ! I fear, I fear— ^" 

^•What, my son?" 

^^ That you diould abhor me for my 
weakness — that the reward of my eoati-^ 
dence should be the loss of your esteem." ; 

** How sbaU I reassure you? Refiert 
upon the whole of my past conduct,^upon 
the paternal tenderness which I harreeyev 
shewn you. Abhor you, Rosaiio ! It is 
no longer in my power. To give up your 
society would be to deprive myself 06 the 
greatest pleasure of my life. Tlien reveal 
to me what afflicts you, and befieve ma 
while I solemnly swea r ■ ^ 

^ HiAdY* interrupted the novice. ^ ^vj^ar 



ffaiit whatever }fe mf secret, you will not 
oblige me to quit the inonartery till my 
noviciate shall expirer" 

^ 1 pramise it faithfully ; and asJE keep^ 
my vowt to you, may Christ keep his to 
mankind ! Now, then, explain this inys- 
tteiy, and rely tipon my indulgence.'' ■ 

" I obey you. Knovr then— Oh, how 
1 tcemble to name the word ! Listen to 
me with {uity, reverend Ambrosio ! Call 
up every latent spark of humanr weakness> 
that may teach you compassion for mine ! 
Father T continued he, throwing himself 
at the friar's feet, and jessing his hand to 
his lips with ei^mess, while agitation for 
a moment choked his voic&~'^ fiither T 
continued he^ in fidtering accents, *^ I am 
a woman !f 

The abbot started at this unexpected* 
avowaL Prostmte on the ground lay the 
feigned Rosario, as if waiting in silence the^ 
decision <xf his judge. Astonishment on 
the one part, apfnrehension on the othen* 
&r some minutes - chained them> in tlie 



114 f HK MONI^. 

same attitudes, as they had beeif €duehe^ 
by tlie rpd 6f i^me mi^iiin. At Is^gtli, 
recovering from his covifusion^ the monk 
quitted the grotto, md sped witii predpi* 
tation towards the abbey/ Hii action did 
not escape the suppliant She sprang from 
the ground^ she hastened to' follow, hiai, 
overtook him, thvew hersdif in his palssage, 
•and erabracedi his kne^*^^ Ambro^o strdw 
in tain tadisengage himself fr6m her grasp. 

** Do ' not %' me !^ she cried-^* leave 
me not abandoned to the impulse of de- 
spair ! Liisten^ while I (sxciisemy Impi^ 
dence — ^while I acknowledge' my sasfer^ 
story to be my own. I am Matilda—ybi 
are her beloved.'^ • - 

If Amforosio's surpidse was great at. her 
first avowal, upon hearing her. seeond^ it 
exceeded all bounds. Amaited, embarrassed, 
and irresolute, he found hlmadyT incapabk 
of pronouncing a syllable, aiHl remained 
Jn silenee gazing upcNi Matilda. Thi^ 
gave her of^rCunity to ooutiniie her ex* 
planatioiimi follows ;-^ 



** Think not, Ambrosio, that! come to 
rob your bride of your affections. No^be^ 
tieve me: Religion alone desarveg' you; 
and far i» it from Matilda's vnsh to draw 
you from the piatks of rirtue. What I fed 
fer you is loye, not licentiousness. X sigh 
to be po6sesa#)r of your healt, not lust^fer 
the ei^c^meiit of your permm Deign to* 
Ksten to my vindication : a few moments 
will ccmvinoe you that this hoiy^ retreat is 
not polluted by my presence, and that you 
may grant me your compassion without 
trespassing against your vows." 

She seated hevseMl Amfaiosio, scarcely 
conscious of what he did» followed her ex^ 
ample, and she proceeded in her discourse. 

*' I spring from a tlistinguisbed fsEmily:; 
my father was chief of tiie noble house of 
ViUanegas : he died wfaUe I was still an 
infant, and left me sole heiress of hi&im- 
mense possessions. Young and wealthy, 
I was sought in marriage by the nofaiest 
youths of Madrid ; but no one succeeded 
in gaining my a£fectims. I had been 



ii6 .««£ monrt. 

(farpugbt up nnder tibe ea|:e of ah' uAcii^ 
{)osisie8sed.of the most solid judgment an^ 
extensiye* eruditiott : he took pleasme ixt 
ecmtmmmtmg to me some podibn of 
his knoifdedge« Undeif'.faia inMnictions' 
±ay undartmding acquired more sti?ength 
jmd jufitness tisan' generally ft&s to the lot 
^ my sex : the ability of my preceptor 
being aided by natural curiosity^ I not oij^ 
-made a eondderable progress in mesuses 
ivni^ersally studied^ but iir others reveided 
but to few,, and lyings under ceosui^ imin 
the bHndness of snperstitmi. Sat while my 
^ardian laboured ta enlarge the sj^^e of 
my knowledge^ he oaiefiilly meuleated 
evevy mosaL preeept : he- relieved me ftom 
the shackles of vulgar prejtidioe; he point- 
ed out the beauty of wligion ; he taugbt 
one to look with addsation up<m the pure 
and virtuous;: and» woe is/ me! I have 
obeyed him but too well. 

**With such disposilions, judge vrhe^ 
tiier I coidd observe with any 6t£er senti- 
ment tiian di^st the vice, dissipatioiii. 



TBE mows: 117 

lasA ignorance^ which disgrace our Spanish 
youth. I rgected ereiy joffer with disdain t 
my heart remained without a master, till 
chance conducted me "to 1^ cathedral of 
ih& Capuehins. Oh, jsurely imi that Auf 
my guwdian angel skimhered, tieglectfi4 
^f his charge ! Then was it that I first 
Jbebeld you: you supplied the superior'a 
jihce, absent from illness. You cannot but 
remembertbe liv^y enthusiasm whidi your 
discourse created. Oh ! how I drank your 
words ! how your eloquence seemed to stesl 
me fix>m myself! I scarcely dared to breathe; 
iearing to lose a syllable ; and while yoU 
^poke, m^hoUght a radiant glory beamed 
round your head, and your countenance 
ahooe with the majesty of a god. I retired 
fitmi the church, . Rowing with admii^ 
tion, !FVom that moment you became th^ 
idol of my heart, jthe n^r^^hanging ob^ 
ject of my medxtatioos. I inquired rei 
specting yon. The repwts which we»e 
noade me of your mode of life, oi your 
ioumh^g^ ^^^and sdf-denia}| 



lis -THE mOMC; 

lihe chains imposed on me by your ^Xh 
qiience. I was conscious tliat ^theve was 
no longer a void in my heart ; that I had 
'found the man whom I .had sought tiH 
then in vain. In .expectation of 'hearing 
you again, every day I Jvisited- your cathe- 
dra : ^ you remained sedudied within the 
abbey «waUs» and I always withdrew, 
^wretched aad disappointed. The night 
was more propitious to me, for then you 
«tood. before me in mydreams ; you vowed 
,to me eternal friendship ; you led me 
through the paths of virtue, ^nd assisted 
me to support the vexations of life. The 
inarmrig/di^elled these pleasing visions*: 
I awoke, and •ffeund ^myself separated fioM 
yoii by barriers which appeared insur- 
mountable. Time«eemed only to increase 
the strength of my passion. I grew me^ 
lancholy and despondent ; I fled from so- 
jdiety, and my health dedined daify. At 
length, no longer aUe to exist in this state 
•of ^torture, 1 Msolved to assume the dis- 
griiae in which jjou ^^see jne.^ My artifioe 



mcas fottunate: I was received into the 
monastery, and succeeded in gaining your 
esteem. 

^^ .]ffow, ithen, I should have felt com- 
pletely happy, had not my quiet been dis- 
turbed by the Jfear of detection. The plea? 
sure which I received from your ^fodety 
was embittered by the idea, that perhaps I 
should soon he deprived of it ; find my heart 
throbbed so rapturously at obtaining the 
marks of your friendship, as to convince 
x»e that I never should survive its loss. I 
resohred, therefore, not to leave the dis- 
covery of my $ex to chance — to confess 
the whole to you, and . throw myself en- 
tirely on your mercy and ijadulgence. Ah, 
Amhrosio! oan I have been deceived? 
Cm you be less generous than I thought 
you ? I will not suspeqt it. You will not 
driye a wjetch .to despair; I shall still be 
perndtted to see you, to converse witH 
you, to adoire youl Your virtues shall he 
my example through life ; and, w}ien wf 



\i6 9H& sromr. 

<expire^ ow bodies shall rest lii the ^me 
jgraviB,*' 
^She ceased* — ^While she spoke^ a thou-; 

* * * 

:jsand opposing s^idm^iit combated in 
Ambrosio^s bosom. Surprise at the 9ingu^ 
larity of this adventurej» eoHfui^ion at lier 
abrupt dedaratlon; j^esentment at her bold- 
Jiess in entering the niofiastery, and o(hv- 
adousness of the austeiity with whl<^ it 
behoved him to reply^^-^uch were the sen* 
iaments of which he was aware; but&ere 
were otha^ also which did not obtain his 
notice. He perceived not that his vanity 
Was flattered by the praises bestowed upon 
iiis eloquence and virtue ; th^t he felt a se* 
cret pleasure in reflecting that a^ yowg 
and seaningly lordly woman had for his 
sake abandoned the world, and sacrificed 
every other pascdon to that which he had 
inspired; still less did he peroeiv^, l^at 
Jiis heart throbbed wll^ desii9, w6ile hii 
band was pressed gently by Matilik's iV^fjr 
fingersi 



THE MONK. 121 

By degrees he reoovered from bis con- 
fysion .; his ideas became less bewildered ; 
he was inmiediately sensible of the extreme 
hnpropriety, should Matilda be permitted 
to remain in the abbey after this avowal of 
her sex. 

He assumed im air of severity, and 
drew away his hand.— ***' How, lady T said 
he, '' can you really hope for my permission 
to remain amongst us ? Ewn were I to 
grant your request, what good could you 
derive from it? Think you that I ever 
can reply to an affection* which "" 

" No, father, no ] I expect not to in** 
spire you wiUi a love like mine.: I only, 
wish for the Hberty to be near you — ^to 
pass some hours of the day in your society 
— isib obtain your oompassion, your friend- 
ship, and esteem. Surely my request is 
not unreasonable." - 

" But rdSect, lady — ^reflect only for a mo- 
ment on the impropriety of my harbour- 
ing a woman in the abbey, and that too a 
Voman who confesses that she loves me, 

VOL. I. a 



im THE MOraC 

It.Daust no€ be : the ri^ of yt>vtt beuig 
d!9eov€<red i!s tob great, and I will not ext 
pose mtyself to 86 dangertHisa temptation." 
, ^ •* Tem^ptaf iof), say yofa ? F<»^ that I 
iim ^yfpmB^ md it nq Ipi^^ t&i£^; con? 
sider me only as a friend, as an unfi)rt»t 
ftatf, wilofl^ halqpintes, whdseltfe. depends 
A^pon your protection. Feat not^ iest I 
should ever ^1 to yoiir reineinbranoe that 
lov#, the moift. iiApetuoos, the BBost lUK 
hetmAed, has indoeed tne to di^seiny 
aex, or that, instigi^ %>y desiifea dOTensivir 
to your vows stiA my ownfaovidiir^ l^oidd 
endeavour to «educfe yoa frotii ^lithe path of 
rectitude. No, AmfeMsio ! learn to iaixm 
m^ he<4^r. i love you for ymi/t virtites : 
lose theni^ and with than y^m lose my. 
affebtions. I look xipon ysa. M a sstetr 
prove to tne that jm ave ^ moM t^ 
xnan, and I quit you with Sk^pssL is it 
then froiki tne thi^ y-ea |ear teniptetidn ? 
from mo, la whom ^te y^^rUt^ daztfBtigf 
fdeamiMi eitBHted no otber M^itifomit Htm 
contMipt^? ft^m ttie^ iniiMeiitlidiiSMfitiii 




tan KONK. ISS 

OR^Tonr esemption BeOmhumMH 
Mlty? Oht ^imnsB such inpadoua ip^ 
prehanioQfl! tbiak nobJcr. i^f. |ne-»-4faink 
i»bkr ((^ jrmnBdf } . I^m iacapafak x>f m^ 
dMiog yon to pmav apd suiiely yoar irir* 
toe is eatafaiisfaed on a bans too &m to b« 
dtalEfin bf unwanEaated 4ei^ure(8. AmJn^ 
;not dttrest AMbiosta! driv« me fi€>t from 
your .prosenoe; veanember yoQf faomisQ 
ad aal^Mme m J «taj.* 

^ iaaposiible, Matilda! ^ipt^r inteR^ 
^dmmandfl »e to^ refmejyour prayer, sined 
I tiemisle for yojx, not ifor mysaU; Aflijet 
tuqjHMhbfig the impetuous ebullitions of 
jmitb^ aiber passkig thirty y^ars in »K>iti« 
fioatton and penance, I might safely per* 
rat your «tay, nor lear your inspiring me 
wiiii warmer amtiments than pity ; but to 
yocQrsdl; peanainiiig in the iMb^ ^an pro^ 
duce none but fatdi ccmsequences. ¥ ou will 
Miicwastarue my ^pvery word md action ; 
yevL 'wSk aeSze every drcumstanee witk 
a«Eli^ty yMkii eiioouiii^6s you to hope the 
iataiaia£ your affacdoti ; insens^y» your 

G 2 



IH TBE HONK.* 

{lasaoiis will gain a superiority over your 
reason, and far ^ra being repressed by 
my presence, <every moment which we past 
together wilLjonly^^erve to irritate «nd ex* 
dte them. Believe tmp .unhappy .womian^ 
yi>u possess my sincere compassion. I am 
convinced .ihat you hasre iritherto acted 
npes) the pivrest motives \ but though yott 
are blind to the imprudence of your cod- 
duct, in me It would be . culp^Ue not to 
cpen your eyes. I feel that duty obliges 
my treating you with harshness ; I must 
r^jiect your prayer, and remove eveiy sha- 
dow c^ hope which may aid to nourish 
sentiments so pernicious to your repose; 
J^atilda, you nuiat fromlience to-mwrow.'^ 

^* To-morrow, Ambrosio? to-morrow? 
Oh, jGairely you cannot mean it ! you can* 
not,resdlve on driving me to despair ! yojn 
cannot have the cruelty—^—'* 

** ypu have heard my diCcisioQ, ^mAit 
must be obeyed : the laws of our ocder A>r- 
bid your stay ; it would be p^ury to osRn 
ceal that a woman is witbui these walls^and 



ifty t<)w8 will oblige me to Hechfe your 
story to the commtinity. You mtist from 
heMfce.- I pity yon, but can do no more." 

He pvoi^ounced these words in a faint 
and trembling voice ; then, rising from his 
seat, he would ha;ve hastened towards the 
monastery. tTtteiIng a loud shriek, Ma^ 
iilda followed, and detained him. 

•« Stay yet one moment, Ambrosio ! hear 
me yet sp^M one word !'' 

*' I dase not listen. Release mei you 
know my resolution.^ ' 

V ^* But otfe word, but one last word, and 
I have done !"* ! 

** Leave me. Your entreaties areirf 
Vain ; you must from hence to-morrow.*^ I 

** Go then, barbarian ! But this resoures 
ie still left me.- r 

. As she said this she suddenly drew>*« 
|)oniard : i^he rent open her garment, and 
placed the weapon's point against her bo- 
sam. — '^ Father,, I will never quit these 
walls alive !" 

Q $ 



»c 



yowdo?'* . *. ., 

*' Your ar^ deteimined^ so ftiii I. The 
iiKmi^nt that your leave me, I plwg0 tfaif 
5teel m nay heart'* 

- ''Holy St. FraocttI Matilda, hate you 
your s^tisefi ? Do ye» know tlje conae^ 
quences of yonr action ? tliat aoieidcf ia the 
greatest of crimes ? iinut yiw, destroy your 
-soul? that you lose yow ehom to fialva- 
tkm ? that yoii prepate fo? yowarif ever- 
lasting torments 2'* ' 

**! «6re nbt^ I care nbt^'* iii|i t^ 
passionately. " Either your hflbd guides 
me to paradise, or my own dooms me to 
perdition ! Speak to me, Amfarono ! Tefl 
me that you will cotieeal my rtory-^-^that 
I shall remain your friend and your com* 
panion* or this poniard drinks my blood." 
As ahe uttered these last words she 
fifted her arm, and made a moticxi as if t9 
stab herself. The friar's eyes followed 
with dread the course of the dngg^r. She 
had torn open her habit, and her bosom 



trais half exposed. The weapon*) pdnt 
rested upon her left breftst~«nd, ob ! that 
was such a bveast ! The moonbeams darting 
foil upon it enabled th^ monk to observe 
its dazzling whiteness: his eye dwelt with 
insatiaUe avidity upon the beauteous wb; 
a sensation till then unknown filled his 
heart with a mixture of anxiety and de* 
light; a raging fire shot through every 
limb ; the blood boiled in his veins, and a 
thousand wild wishes bewildered his ima- 
gination. 

** Hold !*• he eried, in a hurried falter* 
ing voice ; " I can resist no longer ! Stay 
then, enchantress ! stay for my destruc- 
tion r he said, and rushing firom the place, 
he hastened towards the monastery. 

He regained his cell, and threw himself 
upon his couch, distracted, irresolute, and 
confused. He found it impossible for some 
time to arrange his ideas. The scene in 
which he had been engaged had excited 
such a variety of sentiments in his bosom^ 
that he was incapable of deciding, which 

G 4 



was predoninant. He was irreaoliitef what 
€ondu(;;t he ought to hold with the dis« 
turber of his repose: he was conscious that 
prudence^ religion^ and propriety, neces^ 
ai^ed his obliging her to quit the abbeys 
but, on the other hand» such powerful rea- 
sons authorized her stay, that he was but 
too much inclined to consent to her re- 
maining. He could not avoid being flat* 
tered by Matilda's declaration, and at re* 
flectingthat he had unconsciously vanquisher 
ed a heart which had resisted the aitackl 
of Spain's noblest cavaliers : the manner in 
which he had. gained her afFectiohs was 
also the most satisfactory to his vanity. He 
remembered the many happy hours which 
he had passed in Rosario's society, and 
dreaded that void in his heart which part- 
ing with him would occasion. . Besides all 
this, he considered, that as Matilda was 
wealthy, her favour might be of essential 
benefit to the abbey. — '^ And what do I 
yisk," said he to himself, " by authorizing 
"Jier stay ? May I not safely credit her as-» 



THE MOKK* 129 

MitiQtts? Will it not h6 easy f6t vm to 
foTf^ hei sex, aod still consider her0B my 
friend and my disciple ? Surely her We 
is as pur6 as she describes : had it been the 
of&priiig of mere licentiousness^ would she 
so long have^ cc«cealed it in ht r own 
bosom ? wbuld she n«t have eiKi^oy ed 
$onie mearls to- procure its {^ratification?. 
She has .done^ qMlte tlie contu^ary : sho 

9ferove .t&- keep me in. ignoHanee of her 
s^x, andn&tlnng but ttiQieasi of detection^, 
and ii^ instances, would have oompelled 
her 4«o reveal tlie secret.. Slie has observed 
the duties of religion. not. less strictly than 
myself : she has made no^attempt to rouse 
my slumberit^ passions, nor has she ave^ 
conversed with me till this^ . n^hfe. on* Uie 
subjeet df love. . Had . she ' beeik de^^oiKs^ 
to gain my affections^ not row esteem,: 
she w^uld' not haV^ concealed fpowa me her 
charms so eaifefttlly :: at thievery moment 
Ihave never;seen herface; y^t certainly tiiat 
fece must be lovely, and her person beauti- 
%|1, to judge by her — by what I have seen.?. 

G 5 



ISO 11IE icoktc. 

As t^is Uuil idea passed tJiim^ hk 
imagination, a blush spread itsfejIfacHrer his 
eiieek. Alarmed at the sentiments which 
he was indulging, he betodk himself td 
prayer : he stated from his eoudb, knelt 
before the beautifol Madona, and entiiea& 
ed her asristance in stifling ^ich cuIpaUe 
emotions: he then returned to his hed^ 
aind resigned himself to slumber. 
' H^' awoke heated and unrefreshed. 
During his sleep, his inflamed imi^intf^ 
tion had presented him with h<Mie but the 
most voluptuous objects. Matilda stood 
before him in his dreams, and his eyes 
again dwelt upon her naked breast ; she 
repeated her protestatiiOns <^ eternal love, 
threw her ajrms round his neck, and load^ 
ed him with kisses: he retUMed them ; he 
clasped her passicmately to his bosbnii 
and— the visioh was dissolved. Som£^* 
(imes his dreams presented the image' 
pt his favourite Madona, and he fdncied 
tfaf(t he was kneeling before! her: as he^-» 
fered up his vows t6 her^ the'eyes^of tht 



THE MONK. 191 

figure seemed to beam on him with inex« 
jiressible sweetness ; he pressed his lips to 
hers, and found them warm : the animated 
form started from the eanvasj embraced 
him af&ctionately, and his aenses were 
unable to support delight so exqidsite. 
Sudi were the scenes on which his thoogfitft 
were employed while sleeping : his unsa^ 
tisfied desires placed before him the most 
lustful smd provoking images, and herioted 
in joys till then unknown to him. 

9? started from hb couch, filled with 
confusion at the remembrance cf hkh 
dreams : scarcely was he less ashamed 
when he reflected on his reas<His of the 
former nighty which induced him to au- 
thorize Matilda's stay. The* cloud waa 
Aow dissipated which had obscured his 
jiidgment ; he sboddered when he beheld 
his arguments blazoned in ttbeir proper co« 
)ours, and found that he had l^e^n a slave 
to flattery, to avarice, and self-love. If 
in one hour'a conversation Matilda had 
produced a cbange so mnarkable ih'his 

06 



1S2' THE MONK. 

sentiments, what had he not to^dread from 

m 

ber^ remaming in the abbey? Become 
sensible of his danger, awakened from his 
dream of confidence, he resolved to insist 
on her departing without delay : he began 
to feel that he was not proof agamst temp- 
tation, and that, however Matilda might 
liestrain herself vvithin the bounds of mo- 
desty, he was unable to contend with those 
passions from which he falsely thought 
himself exenjpted. 

, ** Agnes ! Agnes !*' he exclaimed, while 
reflecting on his embarrassments, ^' I al* 
rjeady feel thy curse !'* 

He quitted his cell, determined upcM 
dismissing the feigned Rosario. Hejtp* 
peared at matins ; but Ms thoughts were 
absent, and he paid them^ but little atten*- 
tion : his head and brain w^e both of them 
filled with worldly objects, and he prayed 
without def^otion. The Beryice pyer, he 
descended into the garden; he bent his 
steps towards the same $pot where on the 
j^eceding night i^e haA made; tbi^ ^ix4^" 



tipiE MONK. I3d 

fossing discovery: he doabted not that 
Matilda would seek him there. He was. 
not deceived : she soon entered the her* 
mitage, and approached t|ie monk with a: 
l^mid air. After a few minutes, during 
which both were silent, she appeared as if, 
on the point of speaking ; but the abbots 
who during this time had been summon-* 
ing up dl his resolution, hastily interrupt-, 
ed her. Though still uncoiisdous how 
extensive was its influence^ he dreaded th^ 
ijcielodious seduction of her voice. 

** Seat yourself by my side^ Matilda/^ 

said he, assuming a look of firmne^s,^ thoyg)ii 

caMfuUy avoiding the least mixture of 

severity ; ^^ listen to me patiently, and be* 

lieve that, in what I shall say, I am not 

more influenced by nvy own interest thaa 

by yours; believe that I feel for you the 

warmest friendship, the truest compassion ; 

and that you cannot feel more .grieved 

than I do, when I declare to you that we 

must never meet again." 

. ^* Ambrosio !" she cried, in a voice at 



184 THE MONK. 

once expressive both of surprise andbf sor- 

•* Be calm, my friend ! my Rosur'o ! still 
let me call you by that name so dear to me. 
Our separation is unavoidable ; I blush to 
own hpw sensibly i| afl^s roe. But yet 
it must be so ; I feel myself incapable of 
treating you with indifference, and that^ 
very conviction oUiges me to insist upon 
your departure. Matilda^ you must stay 
here no longer.*^ 

** Oh, where shall I now seek for pro- 
bity ? Disgusted with a perfidious world, 
m what happy region does Tnith conceal 
herself? Father, I hc^ied that she resided 
here; I thought that your bosom had 
been her favourite shrine — and you too 
prove false ? Oh God I and you, too> eaii 
betray me?" 

•* Matilda r 

'♦ Yes, father, yes ; 'tis with justree th^- 
I i«proach you. Oh, where are your pK». 
mises? My noviciate is not expired, and 
yet wiH you compel me to q^uit the mo- 



tHfi MONK. iM 

teflteiy ? Can you have the heart to drive 
me itoih you? and have I not received 
your solemn oath to the contrary ?'* 

^ i wili.not compel you to quit the mo« 
nastery; you have reeled my solemn 
oath to the ccxitraiy: but yet, when I 
throw mytelf upon your generosity, when 
I dedare to you the embarrassments in 
which your presence involves me, wiU you 
not rdease me fiom thait oath ? Reflect 
upoii tlie danger o£ a discovery ; upon the 
opprobrium in which sudi an event would 
lounge me: reflect, that my faonbur and 
reputation are at stake, Wfid that my pem^e 
cf bind depends on your compliance. Aft 
^etymy h^urt is free; I shall separate frcM 
ydvt with regret, but not with despair: 
stay here, and a few weeks will saicriflce 
my happiness on the altar of 5^our charms. 
Ybii are but too interesting, too amiable f 
I should love you, I should dote on you ! 
my bosom would become^the prey' of de«> 
ares, which honour and my profession for* 
1^ me to gratify. If I resisted them, the 



ISd 7HE MONK4 

impetuosity of my wishes unfia^isfied waul4 
drive me to madness : if I yielded to the 
temptation, I should sacrifice to one mo- 
ment of guilty pleasure my reputation-in 
this world, my salvation in the iiext. To 
you, then, I fly for defence against my-^ 
self. Pi^serve me from losing the re;ivard 
of thirty years of sufferings^-preserve me 
fi*om becoming the victim of remorse !' 
Your heart has already felt the anguish ol 
hopeless love: oh, tiien,. i[ yxm reaUyr 
value tne^ spare mine that fmgaiAh! give 
me back my pr9mise^ fly frcHSQcthese walls L 
60, and yoa bear ,with yoa my warmest; 
players for your happiness, my friendship** 
my esteem, and admirations st^y^^ and jrour 
become tanie the source xrf* dai^gfs:, q£ suf- 
ferings,. o£ despair.. Answer fjm, Matilda — : 
vhat is your resolve. ?** She was silent^^-- 
* Will you not speak,. Matilda! will yoir 
BOt name your choice ?." 

** Cruel ! CKuel !'* she exclaimed,. wringr 
ing her hands in ^ony : ** you know too? 
weU that you offer me no choice; yote- 



know too well that I can have no will t)ut 
yours r 

" I was not then deceived. Matilda's 
generosity equals my expectations.** 

^* Yes, I will prove the truth of my af^ 
fection by submitting to a decree which 
cuts me to the very heart. Take back 
your promise : I will quit the monastery 
this very day. I have a relation, abbess 
of a convent in Estremadura : to her will 
I bend my steps, and shut myself from 
the world for ever. Yet tell me, father, 
shall I bear your good wishes with me to 
my solitude? Will you sometimes ab- 
stract your attention from heavenly objects 
to bestow a thought upon me ?" 

'' Ah, Matilda ! I fear that I shall think 
on you but too often for my repose !" 

" Then I have nothing more to wish for, 
save that we may meet in heaven. Fare- 
well, my friend! my Ambrosio! And 
yet, methinks I would fain bear with me 
some token of your regard." 

" What shall I give you?"^ 



flowers will be sufficient'' Here she poiiit* 
cd tct* A bush of roses, planted at tiie door 
of the grotto. *' I will hide it in my bosom, 
and when I am dead, the nans shall find 
it withered upon my beart.** 
. The friar was unable to reply. With skm 
$teps, and a soul heavy with «fflietioii« he 
quitted the hermiti^ : he approached the 
bush, and stooped to pluck ono of the 
iroses. Suddei>ly he utt^ed a piercing cry, 
started back hastily, and let the floweri 
which he already heldi fall from his hand. 

Matilda h^d the ^riek, and fiew asx- 
kmsly towards him* 

** What is the matter?" aho cried. **Aii» 
sw» me, fi>r God's sake I What has hap- 
pened?" 

** I have recdved my death,** he replied 
in a faint voice. '' Concealed among the 
toses, a serpent— —*• . 

Here the pa^n of his wound became so 
exquisite, that nature was unaUe to bear 



THE MOKff. 1S9 

It; tu£^ Seises abandoned him» md lie sunk 
iamknate into Matilda's arms. 
' Her distress waa beyond the pcwvier of 
deaeription. She rent her hair, beat h& 
bosom^ 9Xkd not daring to quit Ambnwo^ 
endeavoured, by loud cries, to sanxiaioii 
the monks to her a$»rtance. She at lengtii 
fiuceeeded. Ahumed by her shrieks, se» 
veral of the brpthars hastened to the spot, 
asnd ^e superior was emiveyed back to the 
abbey. Hp was immediately put to bed^ 
and the monk who officiated as surgeon to 
the fiatemity prepared to examine the 
Wound. By this time Ambroslo's band 
had swelled to an extracmiinary size : the 
remedies whidi had been administered to 
him, 'tis true, restored him to life^ but 
not to his senses : he raved in al). the hor^ 
TOTS of delirium, foamed at the mouth, 
and four of the strongest monks were 
scarcely able to hold him in his bed. 

Father PaUos, such was the surgeon's 
name, hastened to examine the wounded 
hand. The iponks sui7ound)ed the bed* 



\ 



iirxioasly waiting for the decMon: ainoiig 
these the feigned Rosario appeared not the 
most insensibU to the fHAl-'s calatnily : he 
gazed upon the sufferer with inexpressiW^ 
unguidi; and hk groans, which every mo^ 
men t escap^ fronl his bosom, sufficiently 
betrayed the violence of his affliction. 

Father Pablos probed the wound/ Ar 
he drew out his instrument, its pcHnt was 
tinged with a greenish hue. He shook 
his head mournfully, and quitted the bed-- 
6ide. 

« 'Tis as I feared/' said he; " there itf 
no hope.** ; ^^ 

" No hope P' exclaimed the mcffiks \^ith 
one voice : " say you, no hope ?"* 

" From the sudden effects, I suspected 
that the abbot was stung by a dentipe- 
doro* : the vcaiom which^you see upon my 
instrument confirms my idea. He cannot • 
live three days" 

■ « . . ' . * • • 

* The cientipedoro is supposed tobd a native of Cal'»» 
and to have been brought into Spuin from lUui ial&od lA 
tke vegsel of G<>lumb<i9. :. • 



^THE MOHK; 141 

^ And can no possiUe remedy be found?"* 
Inquired Bosario. 

*• Without extracting the pcisan, he 
cftidiot reteover ; and how to extract it is 
to me «tiU a secret. AH that I can do is 
to apply sUch herbs to the wound as will 
relieve the anguish-: the patient will be 
restored to his seftses^ but the venom will 
i»nrupt the wliole mass of his blood, and 
m three days he will exist no longer." 

Excessive was the ^universal grief, at 
hearing this decision. Fablos, as he had 
promised) dressed the wound, and thai 
retired, followed by -hii^ companions. . Ro- 
sario aUme remained in -the oell, the abbot; 
at his urgent ^treaty, baving been com-^ 
mkted to his -care. • Ambrosio-s strength: 
worn out by the Violence of his exertions,' 
he ksA by 4;his time Men into a profound 
deep* Bo totally was he overcome by 
iveaririess, that he scarcely gave any signs 
of life; He was still in this situation,' 
when the monks wtumed to inquire whe- 
ther any change had taken place ? Pablos 



14S VBS MOtnB. 

kKWOiecl &e taBcbgf wludi ^mieailed the 
wound, more from a prindfle of cusiOfiityi 
than from indolgiiig the hope of di^QOTer- 
mg any finroiuaUe f^rmptom^. Whfit wai 
Us astcmisfament at finding that i^^ ifir 
flaoimationh^ totally subsided! Hepiob- 
ed thehmfid ; hk iMtruti^ent came out pare 

andunsudQied; nolmoeicif the vesomume 
perceptiUe, and had not th^ oi^fiee utiA 
been visiUe, PaUofi migH have doubts 
ihat there had ever been a wowmL 

He ocHUBaiinhated t^k intelligence to 
his tirc^ren: thar ^%ht wadonfy eqijdit 
led by their suiprise. I'^Fom the hitter 
sentiment, howewr, Ihey w^ere aoon ve<f 
leas^ by exfdaining Ae eiffcumataaoe ac^ 
cording to their own ideas. They wtfe 
pei&otiy convinced that th^r w^perior rtm 
aMust/and tiKxa^t that sotfiiiigewM 
be more mdMral than for St Frnncai t9 
have ^enile4 ^ mwadb ia his VSumiri 
This opinion was adapted iHUttiimoiiBly. 
They 4e9h»ed it so lmdly» and vori&ntr 



ed^^ A mit^KJet n tidrader wilh niieb 
ferroor, tbat they won int^^fupted Auk* 
brosio^s $lumbef8« 

The monks immedia^bdy crowrded rouikl 
his bed, and expressed liieir luitis&otitfii «t 
Im wonderful recovery. He was perfedtly 
in his senses, md &^ fycm every cam-^ 
polity except feeMng weak and languid. 
Fri>kis gave faioi a strengthening medi* 
due, and advised his keeping his bed for 
the two succeeding days : he then retired^ 
having deEwed his patient not to exhaust 
himself by eonversation, ,bttt Tsther to en? 
deavour at taldng s&tike repose. The othev 
monks followed hi& example, and the ab- 
bet find Rosano w^e left without ob- 
eerveis.. 

For some minutes Ambrosio regarded 
his attendant iviCh a look ormfngled plea- 
mte and apprdienskm. She was seated 
upon the side of the bed, her liead bendSng 
€k>wn, «nd, as usualy-enveloped in the tsowl 
of her habit 

^^ Afid you ^re still her^, MatiMa?' said 



144i THE MONi:. 

the friar at length ; ^' are you not satisfMl 
with having so nearly efifected my destruc- 
tion, that nothing but a mirade could have 
saved me from the grave ? Ah ! surely 
Heaven sent that serpent to punish—" 

Matilda interrupt^ him by putting her 
hand before his lips with an air of gaiety. 

^' Husli^&ther ! husfh ! y 6u mtii^lnpt talk.'^ 

•* He who imposed that order knew not 
bow interesting a^e the subjects on which 
I wish to speak.** 

'^ But I know it, and yet issue the same 
positive command. I am appointed your 
nurse^and you must not disobey my orders." 

** You are in spirits, Matilda T 

^V Well may I be so ; I have just receiv- 
ed a pleasure unexampled through my 
whole life*'* 

** What was tiist pleasure?' 

^' What I must conceal fnun all, Init 
most from you.*' 

" jSut most from me? Nay tlie^, I en- 
treat you, Matilda '* 

^< Hui^, father] hush! you must not 



^HE MONK. 145 

talk.-^Batas you do iiat s^em riAclined to 
deepi sball I eotdeavovn* to fimuse youiwith 
my harp T 

** How ! I knew not that ypu,understood 
music'* 

** Oh, I aBfi-a-eonrypeif^OTner! Yet, 
as silcsQceJs prescribed yo^( for eight^and- 
forty hpurs, I may possibly entertain you, 
when wearied of your own reflections, 
I go to fetch my harp." 

She soon returned with it 

^* Now, father, what shall I sing ? Will 
you hear the ballad which treats of the 
gallant Durandarte, who died in the fa- 
mous battle of RonceyaUes ?" 

" What you please, Matilda.** 

** Oh, call me not Matilda ! call me Ro- 
sario; call me your fiieiid. . Those are 
the names which I love to hear from your 
lips. Now listen." 

She then tuned her harp, and after- 
wards preluded for some. moments with 
such exquisite taste as to prove her a per- 
fect mistress of the instrument The air 

VOL.. j: H 



« • 



146 THE MONK. 

which she played was soft and plaintive. 
Ambrosio, while he listened, felt Kis un- 
easiness subside, and a pleasing melancholy 
spread itself into his bosom. Suddenly 
Matilda changed the strain : with a hand 
bold and rapid, she struck a few loud mar- 
tial chords, and then chanted the following 
ballad to an air at once simple and melodi- 
ous:— 

DURANDARTE AND BELERMA. 

Sad and fearful is the story 
Of the Roncevalles fight ; 
On those fatal plains of glory ^ 
'PerishM many a gallant knight; . 

There fell Ducandarte : never 
Verse a nobler chieftain nam'd ; 
He, before his lips for ever 
Clos'd in silence^ thus exclaim'd : — 

<* Ob, Belerma ! oh, my dear one ! 
For my pain and pleasure bom ! 
Seven long years I serv'd thee, fair one ; 
Seven long years my fee was scorn. 



-^ . 



THE Mt)NK. 147 

*' And when now thy hearty replying 
To my wishes, burns like mine, 
Cniel fate» my bliss denying, 
Bids me every hope resign. 

'* Ah ! though young I fail, believe me. 
Death i|K)uld never claim a sigh ; 
Tis to lose thee, 'tis to leave thee, 
Makes me think it hard to die ! 

^ Oh, my cousin Montesinos ! 
By that friendship firm and dear, 
Which from youth has liv'd between us, 
Now my last petition hear :«->- 

** When my soul, these limbs forsaking, 
£ager seeks a purer air, 
From my breast the cold heart taking, 
Give it to Belerma*s care. ^ 

'^ Say, I of my lands possessor 
NamM her with my dying breath ; 
Say, my lips I op'd to bless her, 
iBre they clos'd for aye in death ! 

** Twice a^week, too, how sincerely 
I adored her, cousin, say :«- 
Twice a-week, for one who dearly 
Lov'd her, cousin, bid her pray. 



148 -THE MdNK- 

^ Mdnt^sitioSy bow the tioor 
Mark'd by Tate i^ bear at hatfd ; 
Lo ! my fci^' has Ibifc itt }>d«iW; 
Lo ! I drop ihy'trtisty bi^a'Ad ! 

<« Ey^s; which feith b^heldini) gSibg, 
Homewards n6^er sKaA'see W liie : 
CotisiOy s^op ihos6'teAr^'o*eMow{ng, 
Let me on 'thy b6^m die. 

** Thy kind hand my eyehds closing, 
Yet dnefiivour t implore : 
' IPray tbbu for my sours reposing, 
When my heart shall ^hrob no more. 

^' So shall Ifesus, still attenclingy 
Gracious to a Christian's vow. 
^leasM accept my ghost ascending, 
Aad a seat in heav'n allow,'' 

Thus spoke gallant t^urandilrte ; 
Soon his brave heart broke in twain : 
Greatly joy'rf the Moorish pa^y. 
That the gallant knight was slaio. 

Bitter weeping, titontesinos 
Took frooThim his helm and glaive; 
Bitter weeping, Monte^inos 
Dag his gallant cousin's grave. 



TfLR MOKE* 149 

To perform his promise made, lie 
Cut the heart from out the breast. 
That Belerma, wretched lady ! 

« 

Might receiye the last bequest. 

Sad was Montesino's h^rt; he 
Felt distress his bosom rend.-— 
** Oh, m^ cousin Durandarte, 
Woe is me to view thy end ! 

** Sweet in manners, hir in fairour, 
Mild in temper, fierce in fight > 
Warrior nobler, gentler^ braver. 
Never shall behold the light. 

^* Cousin, lo ! my tears bedew thee ; 
How shall I thy loss survive ! 
Durandarte, he who slew thee. 
Wherefore left he me alive ?' ' 

• 

While she sung, Amhrosio listened with 
delight : never had he heard a voice more 
harmonious, and he wondered how such 
heavenly sounds could be produced by 
any but angels. But though he indulged 
the sense of hearing, a single look con- 
vinced him that he must not trust to that 

H 3 






150 THE MONK. 

of sight. The songstress sat at a little dis- 
tance from his bed. The attitude in which 
she bent over her harp was easy and grace- 
ful : her cowl had fallen backwarder than 
usual; two coral lips were visible, ripe, 
fresh, and melting; and a chin, in whose 
dimples seemed to lurk a thousand Cupids. 
Her habit's long sleeve would have swept 
along the chords of the instalment: to 
prevent this inconvenience she had drawn 
it above her elbow, and by this n^eans an 
arm was discovered, formed in the most 
perfect symmetry, the delicacy of whose 
skin might have contended with snow in 
whiteness. Ambrosio dared to look on 
her but once : that glance sufficed to con- 
vince him how dangerous was the presence 
of this seducing object. He closed his 
eyes, but strove in vain to banish her fix)m 
his thoughts. There she still moved be- 
fore him, adorned with all those charms 
which his; heated imagination could sup- 
ply. Every beauty which he had seen 
appeared embellished ; and those still con- 



THE MONK. 151 

cealed fancy represented to him in glow- 
ing colours. Still, however, his vows, and 
the necessity of keeping to them, were pre- 
sent to his memory. He struggled with 
desire, and shuddered ^when he beheld how 
deep was the precipice before him. 

Matilda ceased to sing. Dreading the 
influence of her charms, wAmbrosio remain- 
ed with his eyes dosed, and offered up his 
prayers to saint Francis to assist him in 
this dangerous trial. Matilda believed 
that he was sleeping : she rose from her 
seat, approached the bed sofUy, and for 
some minutes gazed upon him attentively. 

** He sleeps r said she at length, in a 
low voice, but whose accents the abbot 
distinguished perfiectly. ** Now then I 
may gaze upon him without ofience-^I 
may mix my breath with his — I may dote 
upon his features, and he cannot suspect 
me of impurity and deceit He fears my 
seducing him to the violation of his vows. 
Oh, the unjust ! Were it nay wish to ex- 

H 4 



158 TBteTMftNlt: 

dte desii^, shotfW^I coiMjed^myi&turer^ 
frMAi Mm sa oar^fiilly ?^tho$e feiittut^ o^"- 
which I daily hfear Mitti— " 

She st<)p^/ ar^iSvas I69t4tt hwrteflee*- 
tiohs/ 

" It wa&but'y^tferfayrtltea^tiiwed:^ 
*• but a fetr short hoU»haft€rjjttssed since 
I x;^as de» to him; b^eitteti^'me; and^ 
my htort was stttfaflfe*^ n6'9tV oM, iiowv 
howckU^Uyismysfl[ta«ttoh<^hkng^!' He^ 

looks on me itith suspAdon ; bfe bids me^ 
leaV6him, leav^ him- fdt» ever Oh, yow; 
my s^rit, my idol'!— *yoa; hoHiitg thte 
next place to God > in my breaist, yet two 
days, ^d my heart will lie unveDed to 
you. Could you Imow my flbielings, when 
I beheld your agony! coiild you know 
hdw ihufch your sufferings Rave endeared 
you to me ! Biitf the- tim« wiU^ come^ 
when you will be convinced that my pasi 
sion i^ pure and disinterested; 13^en you 
will pity me, md: feel tifte wHolfe weight 
of these sortt)Wtf.'' 



As sHe saiid this, ber voice was choked 
by weeping. While she bent over Am-^ 
brosio, a tear fell upon his cheek. 

" Ah ! I have disturbed him," cried 
Matilda, and retreated hastily. 

Her alarm was unground^. None 
sleep so profoundly as those wbp are de- 
termined not to wake. The friar was in 
this predicament : he stiU seemed buri^ 
in a repose^ which every succeeding minute 
rendered him less capable of enjoying. 
The burmng tear had cominunicated its 
warmtii to his heart. 

** What aflfiection ! what purity r said 
he, internally, 'f Ah ! since my bosom is 
thus sensible of pity, what would it be if 
agitated by love ?^ 

Matilda again quitted her seat, and re^ 
tired to *«ije distance from the bed. Axioh 
brosio ventured to open his eyes, land to 
cast them upon her fearftilly. Bey face 
was turned fit>m him : she rested ^jr head 
in a mdkmebofy posture uposi b.iNr .to^» 

h5 



154 THE MOKK. 

and gazed on the picture which hung op 
posite to the bed. 

" Happy, happy image !" thus did she 
^dress the beautiful Madona; ^^ 'tis to 
you that he offers his prayers, *tis on you 
that he gazes with admiration ! I thought 
you would have lightened my sorrows; 
you have only served to increase their 
weight; you have made me feel, that, 
had I known him ere his vows were pro- 
nounced, Ambrosio and happiness might 
have been mine. With what pleasure he 
views this picture ! with what fervour he 
addresses his prayers to the insensible 
image ! Ah, may not his sentiments be 
inspired by some kind and secret genius, 
fiiend to my affection ? May it not be 
man's natural instin,ct which informs 
fait n ? Be silent, idle hopes! let me 
not encouinge an idea which takes from 
the brilliance of Amlnnosia's virtue. TKs 
religion, not beauty, whidb attracts his 
admiration: 'tis not to the womani. hat 



THE MONK, ^ 155 

the divinity, that he kneels. Would 
he but address to me the least ten* 
der expression which he pours forth to 
this Madona! would he but say, that, 
were he not already affianced to the churcl/, 
he would not have despised Matilda ! Oh, 
let me nourish that fond idea ! Perhaps 
he may yet acknowledge that he feels for 
me more than pity, and that affection like 
minie miglit well have deserved a return. 
Perhaps he may own thus much when I 
lie on my deathbed. He then need not 
fear to infringe his vows, and the confes- 
sion of his regard will soften the pangs of 
dying. Would I were sure of this ! Oh, 
how earnestly should I sigh for the mo- 
ment of dissolution !" 

Of this discourse the abbot lost not a 
syllable ; and the tone in which she pro- 
nounced these last words pierced to his 
heart. Involuntarily he raised himself 
from his pillow, — ** Matilda !'' he said in 
a troubled voice ; " oh, my Matilda P* 

She started at the sound, and turned to* 

H 6 



tS6 THls monk!. 

wards him hastily. The suddenness of 
her movement made her cowf fall hack 
fiom her head ; her features became Vm- 
h]^ to the monk's inquiring eye. What 
was his amazement at beholding tihe ex- 
act resemhlance of his admired Madona f 
Tliie same exquisite proportion of features, 
the same profusioti of golden hair, the 
same rosy lips, heavenly eyes, and majesty 
of countenance, adorned Matilda ! titter- 
ing an exclamation of surprise, Amhrosio 
sunk back upon his pillow, and douhfedt 
whether tlie object before hiifi was mortaf 
or divinel. 

Matilda seemed penetrated with con^- 
fiion. She remained motionless in her 
place, and supported herself upon Iier in-^ 
strument. tHer eyes were bent upon the 
earth, and lier &it cheeks overspread with 
blushes. On recovering herself, her first ac- 
tion was to conceal her features, ^hethen, 
in an unsteady and trp]abled ycnce, ven- 
tured to address these words to the friar : 

^^ Accident has made you master of a 



TilE Mokk. 15T 

seet&i, wMbh I never wotrld hat^e revealed 
btrt on the bed of death ; jres, Ambrosio, 
m Matilda de Villanegas you see the ori- 
ginal ofyout beloved Madona. Soon aftef ^ 
I conceived my unfortunate passion, II 
formed the project of conveying to you 
my picture. Crowds of admirers had per- 
suaded me that I possessed some beauty, 
and I was anxious to know t^hat effect it 
would produce upon you, I caused ifiy* 
portrait to be drawn by M^crtin Galuppi,' 
a (SSlebwted Venetian, at that time resi- 
dent in M^tdrid. The resemblance was 
striking : 1 sent it to the Csipuchin abbey^ 
asifforsate; dtid the Jew &dni whom you 
bought it was on^ of my ^missatieiS, Ytm^ 
purchased it Judge of my ittptttpe, wheir 
informed that you had gazed upon it with 
delight, ot rather i*ith ftdoitttion ; that 
you had suspended it in ycftrf cell, awd that 
you addressed your supplications td no 
other saint! Will this discovery make 
me stin more regarded a^ an object oi sus- 
pidon? ilather^ shduld it convince you 



158 TH£ MONK. 



how pure is my affection, ^d engage you 
to suffer me in your society and esteem. 
I heard you daily extol the praises of my 
portrait; I was an eye-witness of* the trans- 
ports which its beauty excited in you: 
yet I forbore to use against your virtue 
those arms with which yourself had fur- 
nished me; I concealed those features from 
your sight, which you loved unconsdous- 
ly-^I strove not to excite desire by dis- 
playing my charms, or to make myself 

mistress of yoiur heart' through the medium 
of your senses. To attract your notice 
hf studiously attending to religious duties, 
to endear myself to you by oonvindng 
you that my mind was virtuous, and my 
attachment sincere; such was my only 
aim. I succeeded; I became your com- 
panion and your friend. I concealed my 
sex froni yoiur knowledge; and had you 
not pressed me to reveal my secret, had I 
not been tormented by the fear of a dis- 
covery^ never had you known me for any 
ptherthan Bosaria And still are you re- 



THE MONK. 159 

solved to drive me from you ? The few 
hours of life which yet remain for me, may 
I not pass them in your presence ?— Oh, 
speak, Ambrosio, and tell me that I may 
stay !*" 

This speech gave the abbot an opportu* 
nity of recollecting himself. He was con- 
scious that, in the present disposition of his 
mind, avoiding her society was his only 
refuge from the power of this enchanting 
woman. 

^' Your declaration has so much astonish- 
ed me," said he, '^ that I ami at present in* 
capable of answering you. Do not insist 
upon a reply, Matilda : leave me to my- 
self-^I have need to be alone." 

** I obey you ; but, before I gd, promise 
not to insist upon my quitting the abbey 
immediately." 

** Matilcte» reflect upon your situation ; 
reflect upon the consequences of your stay : 
our separation is indispensable, and we 
vmust part." 



'<Bat not tcKday, fetiierf Oh, in pify; 
nottcwfay?* 

^ You press me too kaid^ but I canned 
ies^t that tone of supplioalfoti. Smce you 
insist upon it, I yield to your prayer ; I 
orarsent to your remaimiig hove a sufficient 
tkne to prepare, in some measuw, the twe- 
thren fbr y6ur departui^: stay yet two 
days ; hut on the third/' be sighed iovo^ 
luntarily> ** remembel^, |hat on the thiid 
we must part for ever !" 

She caught his hand eBgmlfs ^d press- 
ed it to her lips. 

** On the tiiird V she exdaitfi^ "wUk^aa 
air of wad solemnity. ** You are r%ht, ft- 
ther, you are right ; on the third wemusft 
part for eve* !•• 

^ere was a dreadihl expression in her 
eye, as she uttered these words, which pe- 
netrated the fnaf s soul with faorrw. Again 
she kissed his hand, and theti fted with ra- 
pidity from the diamber. 

Anxious to authorize the presencie ofMs 



* 
1 



TRF MONK 161 

dangerous guests yet consdous that her 
stay was ininnging the laws of his order» 
Ambrosio's bosom became the theatre of a 
thousand contendrng-passions. At length 
his attadim^vttothe fbigned Rosario, aid- 
ed by the natural warmth of his tempera- 
ment; seemed likely to obtain the victory: 
thesuccess was assured, when thatpresump- 
tion which formed the groundwork of his 
characteroameto Matilda's assistame. The 
monk reflected diat tovanquish temptation 
was an infinitely greater merit than ta 
avoid it ; he thought that he ought rather 
to rejoice in the opportunity given him of 
proving the firmness of his virtue. St 
Anthony had withstbod' all seductions to 
lust — ^then why should not he ? Besides, 
St, Anthony was tempted by the devil; who 
put every art into practice to excite his 
passions ; whereas Ambrosio's danger pro* 
ceeded from a mere mortal^ woman, feaiiul 
and modest, whose apprehensions of hll;. 
yielding were not less violent than Kid own* 
" Yes," said he, '' the unfbrttmate shall 



162 THE MONK. 

stay ; I have nothing to fear from her {we^ 
senee: even should mjrown prove too weak 
to resist the temptation, I am secured from 
danger by the innocence of Matilda." 

Ambrosio was yet to learn, that, to a 
heart unacquainted with her, vice is ever 
most dangerous when lurking behind the 
mask of virtue. 

He found himself so perfectly recovered, 
that, when father Pablos visited him again 
at night, he entreated pemiission to quit 
his chamber on the day following. His 
request was granted. Matilda appeared 
no more that evening, except in company 
with the monks when diey capie in a body 
to inquire after the abbot's health. She 
seemed fearful of conversing with him in 
private, and staid but a few minutes in his 
room. The friar slept well; but the dreams 
of the former night were repeated, and his 
sensations of voluptuousness were yet more 
keen and exquisite: the same lust-exdting 
visions floated before his eyes ; Matilda, in 
all the pomp of beauty, warai, tender, and 



\ 



THE MONK. 163 

luxurious, clasped him to her bosom, and 
lavished upon him the most ardent caresses. 
He returned them as eagerly ; and already 
was on the point of satisfying his desires, 
when the faithless form disappeared, and 
left him to all the horrors of shame and 
disappointment. 

The morning dawned. Fatigued, ha- 
rassed, and exhausted, by his provoking 
dreams, he was not disposed to quit his bed : 
he excused himself from appearing at ma^ 
tins : it was the first morning in his life 
that he had ever missed them. He rose 
late ; during the whole of the day he had 
no opportunity of speaking to Matilda 
without witnesses ; his cell was thronged 
by the monks, anxious to express their 
concern at his illness ; and he was stiU oc- 
cupied in receiving their compliments on 
his recovery, when the bell summoned them 
to the refectory. 

After dinner the monks separated, and 
dispersed themselves in various parts of, 
the garden, where the shade of trees pr re- 



104 THE HOKK. 

tirement of fiorae grotto presBited the most, 
agreeabk means of enjoyiiig:. the siesta* 
The abbot bent his steps towards the her- 
mitage ; a glance of his eye invited Ma^ 
tilda to aoQompany him : she obeyed, aad 
followed him thither in silence. The^ et^ 
tered the grotto, and seated thfinu^y^ ; 
both seemed unwilling to begin the am- 
versation, and to labour under the influ- 
enoe of mutual embairassoient. At l?ng|;h 
the abbot spdce: he eonvdfsed only on 
indifferent topics^ and Matilda answered 
him in the same tone ; sheseemed'anxiou& 
to make him forget that the person who 
sat by him was any other than .Bosario. 
Neither of them dared, or indeed wiahed» 
to make an allusion to the subject whicb 
was most at the heart of both* 

Matilda's efibrts to appear gay wet^emr 
dently forced.: her spirits Were. P{t{»re8sed 
by the weight of anxiety ; and ^l^n ^e 
spoke, her voice wasJow and feeble: she 
seemed desirous of fini^ing a conveFsatioli 
which embarrassed^ hw ; and, complaining 



^THE MONK. 165 

i;hat she -tms utiwell, she • requested Am- 
brosio's permission to return to the abbey. 
He fetCieOlihpahi^ her to the door of her 
c©dl ;^ ilhd, ^vhen ai^ived there, he stopped 
^liWto-dAdwe^his ^consent to her eontinu- 
ibg the'ip^fier offais solitude, so long as 

^dhbtiia be^1a^^«*le to »h(Si«elf. 

*^e difeovferedno mai^ks of pleasure at 

^^^virig tMs lntelMgen«e, though (Wiethe 
* ^feceding day ^he had ' beenf ' so^ attKfctis 'to 
'^bbtain ^he jjepttiM^. 

** Afes, fathter/^ -she^^said, ^Vaving her 
•'4idad'^mouniftiHy, ^^ your kindni^ss ctemes 
*^!6o1ite; ihy^doom is fitxf*d ; ^e must se- 
^^arate for 6^er: yet beliete' that I am 
-'^^^to^ful%r your g^hewiSity, for your*eom- 
-Mission of ^n ilnfortuttate, Who li but too 
' ^little deS^i-virig bf it.'' 

She^ ^ut tier hattdkeihehief to her eyes ; 
her cowl' Wife 6nljr^half drawn o^Ver her^e. 
'^3tt&br(kiox)BfeeiVtd that Sh^' was p and 
ftfef cfyes^urik aiid^hctovy. 

*^e6od*Obd r %fe dried, «» you are Very 



S( 



166 THE MONK. 

ill, MatUda ; I shall send father Pablos to 
you instantly/* 

" No, do not : I am ill, 'tis trae, but he 
cannot cure my malady. Farewell, &ther! 
Remember me in your prayers to-morrow, 
while I shall remember you in heaven." 

She entered her cell, and closed the door. 

The abbot dispatched to her the physi- 
cian without losing a moment, and waited 
his report impatiently ; but &ther Pablos 
soon returned, and declared that his errand 
had been fruitless. Rosario refused to ad- 
mit him, and had positively rejected his 
offers of assistance. The uneasiness whidi 
this account gave Ambrosio was not tri- 
fling; yet he determined that Matilda 
should have her own way . for that night, 
but that, if her situation did not mend by 
the morning, he would insist upon her 
taking the advice of father Pablos. 

He did not find himsdf inclined to deep; 
he opened his cas^aent, and gazed upon 
the moonbeams as they played upon the 



/ 



THE MONK. 167 

^smdll stream whose waters bathed the walls 
of the monastery. The ooohiess of the 
night-breeze, and tranquillity of the hour, 
inspired the friar^s mind with sadness : he 
thought upon Matilda's beauty and affec- 
tion ; upon the pleasures which he might 
have shared with her, had he not been re- 
strained by monastic fetters. He reflect- 
ed that, unsustained by hope, her love for 
him could not long exist ; that doubtless 
she would succeed in extinguishing her 
passion, and seek for happiness in the arms 
(^ one more fortunate. He shuddered at 
the void which her absence would leave in 
his bosom ; he looked with disgust on the 
monotony of a convent, and breathed a 
sigh towards that world from which he was 
for ever separated. Such were the reflec- 
tions which a loud knocking at his door 
interrupted. The bell of the church liad 
already struck two. The abbot hastened 
to inquire the cause of this disturbance. 
He opened the door of his cell, and a lay- 
lMX)ther entered, whose locks declared his 
hurry and confusion. 



168 THE MONK. 

" Hasten, reverend father T said he, 
*^ hasten to the young Rosario ! he ear- 
nestly requests to see you; he^lies at the 
point of death/' 

'' Gracious God ! where is fiitfaer Fablos? 
Why is he not with him ? Oh ! I fearr I 

fear ^" 

^'Pather Pablos has seen him, but hk 
art can do nothing. He says that he sus- 
pects the youth to be poisoned." 

^'Poisoned? Oh, the unfortunate ! It 
is then as I suspected! But let me not 
lose a moment ; perhaps it may yetbe>time 
to save her.*' 

He said, and flew towards iheedl of (he 
novice. Several monks were^abeady in the 
chamber; &theif Fablos was one of than, 
and held a medicine in hisiiiand/iwladi he 
was endeavouring to persuade Rosario to 
swallow. The others were.e]ii{il0yed in 
admiring the patient'^ divine^ joountenanoe, 
which they now saw for tiie firrt .time. 
She looked lovelier than ever: she watsio 
longer pale or languid ; a fanght glow had 
spread itself over ker :cheeks; her eyes 



itHE MONK. 169 

sparkled with a serene delight, and her 
countenance was expressive of confidence 
and resignation. 

" Oh ! torment me no more T was she 
saying to Pablos, when the terrified abbot 
rushed hastily into the cell; **my disease 
is far beyond the reach of your skill, and X 
wish not to be ciired of it.'* Then perceiv- 
ing Ambrosio — *^ Ah, 'tis he !" she cried ; 
** I see hind once again before we part for 
ever ! Leave me, my brethren ; much 
have I to tell this holy man in private.'* 

The monks retired immediately, 'and 
Matilda and the abbot remained together. 

** What have you done, imprudent wo- 
man ?'• exclaimed the latter, as soon as they 
were left alone : ** tell me, are my suspi- 
cions just ? Ain I indeed to lose you ? 
Has your o^ hand been the instrument 
of your destruction ?*" 

She smiled, and grasped his hand. 

** Ih what' have I been imprudent, fa- 
ther? I have sacrificed a pebble, and saved 
a diamond; My 36ath preserves a life va- 

VOL. I. I 



170 THE MONK, 

luable to the world, and more dear to me 
than my own. — ^Yes, father, I am poisoned; 
but know, that the poison once xdrculated 
in. your veins." 

■*' MatUda !" 

" What I tell you I resolved never to 
discover to you but on the bed of death; 
thaf moment is now amved. You caimot 
have forgotten the day ahaeady, when your 
life was endangered by the bile of ia cienti- 
pedoro. The physician gave you ovct, de- 
claring himself ignorant how to extract the 
venom. I knew but ofone means, and he- 
sitated not a moment to employ it. I was 
left alone with you; you slept; I loosened 
the bandage from your hand ; I kissed the 
wound, and drew out the poison with my 
lips. The effect has been more sudden 
than I expected. I feel death at my heart; 
yet an hour, and I shall be in a better 

world." 
"Almighty God!" exdaiBW^ flie abbot, 

and sunk ahnost lifeless upon the bed. 
A fihAr a fpw minutes he asaia wdsed hiffi* 



THE MONK. 171 

idf np suddenly, and gazed upon Matilda 
with all the wildness of despair. 

" And you have sacrificed yourself for 
me! You die, and die to preserve Afflbro- 
sio! And is there, indeed, no remedy, 
Matilda ? And i-s there, indeed, no hope ? 
Speak^ to me ! oh, speak to me 1 — ^tdl me 
that you have still the means of life !** 

" Be comforted, my only friend ! Yes, 
I have still the means of life in my power ; 
but it is a means which I dare not employ ; 
it is dangerous, ' it is dreadful ! Life would 
be purchased at too -dear a rate— unless it 
were permitted me to live for you." 

** Then live for me, Matilda — ^for me and 
gratitude!'* He caught her hand, and 
pressed it rapturously to his lips. " Re- 
member our late conversations ; I now con- 
sent to every thing. Remember in what 
lively^ colours you described the union of 
souls ; he it ours to realize those ideas. Let 
us forget the distinctions of sex, despise 
the world:s prjejudices, and only consider 

i2 



172 THE MONK- 

each other as brother and friend. Live 
then, Matilda— oh, live for me !" 

** Ambrosio, it must not be. When I 
tliQught thus, I decdved both you and my- 
sdf : either I must die at pi:esait, or ex* 
pire by the lingering torments of unsatis- 
fied desire. Oh, since we last conversed 
together, a dreadful veil has been rent ftom 
before my eyes. I love you no longer with 
the devotion which is paid to a saint**-Iprize 
you no more for the virtues of your souV-r^ 
Jf lust for the enjoyment of your person. 
Tiie woman reigns in my bo^om, and I am 
become a pr^y to the wild^t of passions. 
Away with. friendship! 'ti» a qol4 unfeel- 
ing word : my bosom bums with love, 
%yith unutterably love, and loije must be its 
return. Tremble then, AmbrosLo ! trem- 
ble to succeed in your praye-s ! If I live, 
your truth, your reputation, your reward 
of a life past in sufferings, all that you va- 
lue« 16 irretrie V4thly lost I shall no Ipng^ 
be ablejto ccHsbat my passions, shall seize 
every opportunity to excite your desires, 



TH£ MOUK. 173 

Mid labour to effect your dishonour and 
my own* No, no, Ambrosio, I must not 
live ; I am convinced with every moment 
that I have but one alternative; I feel 
with every heart-throb that I must enjoy 
you or die.** 

"Amazement, Matilda! Can it be you 
who speak to me ?'* 

He made a movement^ as if to quit his 
seat. She uttered a loud shriek^ and rais- 
ing herself half out of the bed, threw her 
arms round the friar to detain him. 

•** Oiif do not leave me I Listen to my 
errors with compassion : in a few hours I 
shall be no more : yet a little, and I am 
free from this disgraceful passion." 

" Wretched woman ! what can I ^ay to 
you ? I cannot — I must not— But live, Ma- 
tilda! oh,live!'' 

" You do not reflect on what you ask. 
What, live to plunge myself in infamy ? 
to become the agent of hell? — to work the 
destruction both of you and of myself? 
Feel this heart, father.'* 

13 



174r THE UaSTi 

She took his^ hand. Confhsed, embbr-^ 
rassed, and fascinated, he withdrew it not, 
and felt her heart throb under it 

•* Feel this heart, fatherr It i« yet the^ 
seat of honour, truth, and chastity : if it 
beats to-morrow, it must fidl a prey to the 
blackest crimes. Ob, let me, then, die to* 
day !— let me die while I yet deserve the 
tears of the virtuous! Thus will I expire!' 
She reclined her head upon his shoulder i 
her golden hair poured itself* over his chest 
" Folded in your arms, I shall sink to sleep; 
Your hand sliaUdofte mv eves for eveir^afid* 
your lips receive my dying breath. And 
will you not sometimes think of me ? — 
will you not sometimes shod &« tear upon 
my tomb ? Oh yes^ yes, yes ! that kiss is 
icy assurance." 

The hour was night. All was silence 
around. The faint beams of a solitary 
lamp darted upon Matilda's figure, and shed 
through the chamber a dim mysterious 
light. No prying eye, or curious ear wafr 
near the lovers : nothing was heard but 



THE MONK. XT5 

Matilda's melodious accents. Ambrosio 
was in the full vigour of manhood ; he saw 
before him a young and beautiful woman, 
the preserver of his life, the adorer of his 
person, and whom ajQection for him had 
reduced to the brink of the grave. He sat 
upon her bed ; his hand rested upon her 
bosom; her head reclined voluptuously 
upon his breiast Who then can wonder if 
he jrielded to the temptation ? Drunk with 
dfcsire, he pressed his lips to those which 
sought them ; his kisses vied with Matil- 
&'s in warmth and passion : he clasped her 
rapturousTyi&higgrpds; he forgot his vows, 
his sanctity, and his fame ; he remembered 
nothing but the pleasure and opportunity. 

" Ambrosio !~oh, my Ambrosio f' sigh^ 
cd Matilda. 

" Thine, ever thine,'* murmured the 
friar, and sunk upon her bosom. 



I 4 



176 Tim Moxx, 



CHAPTEH in. 

■■ ■■■ .These arc ttie vHUinsr 

Whom all the travellers do fear so mticb^ 

Some of them are gentlemen, 
Such as the fury of ungoyem'd youtii' 
Thrust from the compaoy of awfiil men. 

Two G£:<TLEM£K OF VfiROiifA. 

The mar^tR«r^ ^nd Lorenzo proceeded to 

the hotel in silence. Thefo"- ..». 

^,T , . -**ner employ- 

cu inmsetf in ealting every circumstance 
to his mind, whieh related, might give 
Lorenzo's the most fevourable idea of his 
connexion with Agnes. The latter, justly 
akrmed for the honour of his femily, felt 
embarrassed by the j^esence of the mar- 
quis: the adventure which he had just 
witnessed forbade his treating him as a 
friend, and Antonia's interests being in- 
trusted to his mediation, he saw the im- 



TXtBlCOMX. 177 

poVtcy €xf treiitifciiig him as a foe. He coii-^ 
duded from ih&te: rafleetions^ that pro^ 
Sound sSh&aee would be the wisest plan, 
a»d waited YnHtk impatiienoe for deft Ray*' 
BKKtid's explanation. 

They arrived at the hotel de h&^ Cister- 
nas. The marquis immediatdiy conducts 
ed him i& hk i^^artmeat, and begatv to 
express his satis&ction at finding him at 
Madrid. 

Lorenzo interanipted him.—'* Exx^use 
m^ ray ItorA^' mi he, wHh a ^tant air, 
^ if I reply 8oni»wh»t coldly tso your ex- 
pressions ci re^urd, A sister's honour is 
involved in this affair i till that ic^ establish- 
ed, and the piirport af your eorfcespond- 
eqbe with Agn^ deand mp, I camiot ccm^ 
sider you as my frigid. I am anxious to 
h€$ar the meaning of your conduct,, dnd 
hope that ydu will not delay the promised 
expknatibn." 

" First give tne yout word, that you 
wilt Usten with patience and indulgence." 

^ 1 love my sister too- well to; jji^*^ her 

I 5 



178 THE MONC;^ 

hardly ; and till Hiki mometit I possiEfssed 
no friend so dear to me as yourself. I 
will also confess, that your liaving it in 
your power to oblige me isi a business^ 
which I have much at heart makes me 
very anxious to find you still deservkig 
my esteem.'' 

" Lorenzo, you transput me !* Ko great- 
er plelisure can be given me than an^ 
opportunity of serving the brother of Ag* 



nes.'* 



'' Convince me tiiat I cail accept your 
favours williout dishonour, and there is no 
man in the world to whom I am more will- 
ing to be oUiged." 

** Probably you have ali'^y heard your 
sister mention the nameof Alphonso d'Al-^ 
varada?*' 

•* Never. Though I feel for Agnes an 
affection truly fraternal^^ drcumstances 
h^ve prevented lis from being mud^ tcP 
gether. While yet a child, she w»r aS«* 
signed to the care' of her aunt, who had 
married a German moMeman* Atidsisa^ 



%.» V 



THE MONK. 179 

tie she remained till two years since^ when 
she returned to Spain, determined upon 
secluding herself from the world." 

** Good God, Lorenzo ! you knew of 
her intention, and yet strove not to make 
her change it?'* 

** Marquis,, you wrong^ me : the intel- 
ligence which > I received 'at Naples shock- 
ed me extremely, and I hastened my re- 
turn to Madrid for the express purpose of 
preventing the sacrifice. The moment 
Ihat I arrived, I flew to the convent of St. 
Glare, in which Agnes had chosen to per- 
form her noviciate. I requested to see 
my sister. Conceive my surprise when 
she sent me a refusal: sfie deds^ed posi- 
tively liiat, apprehending my> influence 
over her mind, she would not trust herself 
in my^ society till the day before that on^ 
which she was to receive ttie veil. I s^p^ 
plicated the nuns; I insisted upon sei^ng 
Agnes, and hesitated not to avow my 
suspidons, that her being kept from me 
was against her own inclinations* To free 

I 6 



190 THE MONK. 

herself from the impatat&on of violefiGe^ 
the piicHress broagbt me a few liiies» writ- 
ten in my siftter's well-knowxi haiikd^ re- 
peating the message already delivered. 
All future attempts to obtain a moment's 
conversation with her were as fruitless^ s& 
the first She was i»flex9ble» and I tras 
not permitted to see h^ till th^ day pre^ 
ceding that on which site entered the 
doister, never to quit it menei. This inter^ 
view took {dace in the presence of omr 
principal relations. It was &r the* first 
time since her childhood Ub&t X saw her^ 
and the scene was most a£Sectkig: she 
threw herself upon my bosom, kissed me» 
and wept bitterly. By every possible as^ 
gum^t» by tears^ by payers, by kneel- 
ing, I strove to make her abandon her ia*^ 
tentioft. I represented to hex idl the hanl^ 
slnps of a reHgtous life; I painted to her 
kni^jnation all the pleac»aares whidi she 
""^^M g^g to quit, and bet^otight her to 
dWhiseto me what9cea3ionQ<l herdlsgast 
t» the world. At this last ^uestion^ ste 



THE KONS; 181 

tinned pale, and het tears flowed yet 
fyeter. She entreated me not to press her 
on that sabjeet ; thttt it sufficed me to- 
know that her resdiution was tnken, and 
that a convent was the«only plaee where 
she ooald now ha^ for tranquilh'ty. She 
pemevered hi her design^ and made her 
professiMi. I visked her frequently at the 
grate; and every moment that I passed 
with her made me feel more affliction at 
her loss. I was shortly after obliged tO' 
quit Madrid; I returned but yesta-day^ 
cfVening^ and since then have not had time* 
to caB at St. Clare*^ convent'^ 

•• Then, till I mentioned it, you never 
heard thfe name of Alphohsod'Alvarada?'' 

^ Pardon me : my aunt wrote me wordi, 
that an adventmrer so called had fbimd 
means to get introduced into the castle of 
lindenberg *r that he bad insinuatied him^ 
self into my sister^ good graces; and that 
the had even consented to elope widihim. 
However, befor^ the pkn eotdd be exe. 
euted^ the cavalier discovered that thcf 



182 THE MONK; 

estates whiji^h he belieVed Agnes to i)0S8ess 
in Hispaniola, in realifjr belonged to me« 
This intelligence inade rbkn change his 
intention : he disap{>eared on the day that 
the elopement was to have taken place ; 
and Agnes, in desp^r atJiis perfidy and 
meanness, had resolved upon sedtision in 
a convent She added, that as this adven? 
turer had given himself out to be a firiend 
of mine, she wished to know whether I 
had imy knowledge of him* I replied in 
the negative, I had then, very littlie idea 
that Alphonso d'Alvarada and the mar- 
quis de las Cistemas were one -and the 
same person : the description given me of 
the first by no means t^ed with what I 
knew of the latter." 

'^ In this I easily recognize donna Ro* 
dolpha's perfidious character. Every woid 
of this account is stamped with macks of 
her malice, of her falsehood^ of her tafents 
for misrepresenting those whom she wishes 
to injute. Forgive me, Medina, ibr speak-, 
ing so fireefly of your relation. The mis- 



THE MONS:; 183^ 

which she has done me authorizes^ 
my resentment ; and when you have heard 
my story, you will be convinced that my 
expressions have not been too severe." 

JHe then began his narrative in the fol- 
lowing manner :-— 



HISTOBY OF DON RAYMOND, MAUQUIS DK 

LAS CISTHKNAS. . 

*^Long experience, my dear Loren^Oy 
has convinced me how generous is your 
nature : I waited not for your declaration 
of ignorance respecting your sister's adven- 
tures, to suppose that they had been pur^ 
posely concealed from you. Had they: 
reached your knowledge, from what mis* 
fortunes should both Agnes aiid myself 
have escaped ! Fate had ordained it others 
wise. You were on your travels when I 
first becai^e acquainted witii your sister *y 
atid as oui^ enemies took'care to conceal 
firom her your direction, it was impossible 



184 tsce: monk:. 

for her fo implore by letter your protec- 
tion and advioe. 

** On leaving Saiamanea^ at which uni- 
Tensity, as I have since heard, you remain 
ed a year after I quitted it, I immediidiely^ 
set out upon my travels. My fiiAher sup-* 
plied me liberally with money ; but he in- 
sisted upon my concealing my rank, and 
presenting myself asr no ^ooore ttisax a pn» 
vate gentleman^ This command was is- 
sued by the counsels of his friend the duke 
of Villa Hermosa,. a nobleman tov whose 
afMUties and knowledge of the wofld I 
Ikave ever entertain^ the mocrt pntfoimd 
veneration. 

^ Believe me/sind he, ^'my dear Ray^ 
mcKnd, you wili hereafter ^l the benefits 
«f this tempoiary degsadatibn^ "Tii true,, 
that as til* eond^ de la& Cietams, yoa 
would have been remv^'wiUt open amis,, 
flnd your youtfafiil ^aodty might have* Mi 
girati&d hy tkie attentions showev^ upon 
yotfi firom^ aU sides^ At preset, mudi wiU 
depend, uponi yoiirarif ; you hove excellent 



THE MONK. 185 

reoDmmendations, but it must be your 
own business to make them of use to you : 
you must lay yourself out to please; you 
must labour t€L gain the approbation of 
those to whom ydtKare presented : they 
who would have courted the friendship of 
the Gond^ de las Cisterxias will have no 
interest in finding out the merits, or bear- 
ing patiently with the &ults of Alphonso 
d'Alvarada; consequently, when you find 
yourself really liked, you may safely ascribe 
it to your good qualities, not your rank, 
and the distinction shewn you will be in- 

finitely more flattering. Besitfes, your 
exalted birth would not permit your mix- 
ing with the lower classes of society, which 
will no^Y be iii your power, and from 
which, in my opinion, you will derive 
considerable benefit. Do not confine your- 
self to the illustrious of those countries 
through which you pass. Examine the 
manners and customs of the multitude : 
enter into the cottages, and by observing 
bow the vassals of foreigners are treated^ 



186 THE MOKic: 

feam to ditainish thie burthens, and aug^ 
ment the comforts of your own. Accord- 
ing to my ideas of those advantages 
which a youths destined to^ the possession 
of power and wealth nuiy reap ftem trftvel, 
he should not consider as the least essen- 
tial the opportunity of mixing with the 
classes below him, and becoming an eye- 
witness of the sufferings* of the people.* 

** Forgive me, Lorenzo, if I seem te- 
dious in my narration : the dose connex- 
ion which now exists between us makes 
me anxious, that you should know dveV^ 
particular respecting me ; and in my fear 
of omitting the least drcumstance which' 
may induce you to think favourably of 
your sister and myself, I may possibly 
relate many which you may think un- 
interesting, 

** I followed the duke's advice: I was 
soon convinced of its wisdom. I quitted 
Spain, calling myself by the assumed title 
of don Alphonso d'Alvarada, and attended 
by a single domestic of approved fidelity* 



MONK* 187" 

Paris T^ais my' first station: For some 
time I was enchanted with it, as indeed 
must be every man who is young, rich, 
and fond of pleasure. Yet among all its^ 
gaieties, I felt that something was wanting 
to my heart: I grew sick of dissipation— - 
I di^scove^ed that the people among whom 
I lived, and whose exterior was so polished - 
and seducing, were at bottom frivolous, 
unfeeling, and insincere. I turned from 
the inhabitants of Paris with disgust, and 
quittod that theatre of luxury without 
l^eaving one sigh of regret 

" I now bent my course towards Ger- 
many, intending to visit most of the prin- 
cipal courts. Prior to this expedition, I 
meant to make some little stay at Stras- 
bourg. On quitting my chaise at Lune- 
ville, to take some refreshment^ I observed 
a splendid equipage, attended by four do- 
mestics in rich liveries, waiting at the door 
of the Silver Lion. Soon after, as I looked, 
out of the window, I saw a lady of noble 
presence, followed by two female attend- 



188 TfiE MONK. 

ants, step into the carriage, which droV6 
off immediatdy. 

*' I inquired of the host who the lady 
was that had just departed. 

' A German baroness, monsieur, of great 
rank and fortune; she has been upon a 
visit to the duchess of Longueville, as her 
servants informed me. She is going to 
Strasbourg, where she wUl find her hus- 
band, and then both return to their castle 
in Germany.' 

" I resumed my journey, intending to 
J!^ch Strasbo"'''T^ fl^pf *^^^-i^4- ?.Tv.l;r.rfi^ 

however, were frustrated by the breaking 
down of my chaise : the accident happen- 
ed in the middle of a thick forest, and I 
was not a little embarrassed as to the 
means of proceeding. It was thfe depth 
of winter ; the night was already closing 
round us, and Strasbourg, which was the 
nearest town, was still distant fix>m us 
several leagues. It seemed to me that my 
only alternative to passing the night m 
the forest, was to tale my servant's horse 



THE MONK. 189 

dnd ride on to Stc8sbofirg'--4ln under« 
taking at that season verjr far from agreed- 
able. * Ho«never» seeing no other resouroe^ 
I was ohUged to make up wj mind to it: 
aoeordingly I cemmunioated mj ctesign to 
the postillion, telling him that I would 
send people to assist him^ aa soon as I 
reai^ed Starasbourg. I had not much con- 
fidence in his honesty, bat-St^^haono being 
wdl armed, and the dri^tery to aU appear- 
anoe, considerably advanced in years; I be- 
lieved £ ran no risk of losing my baggage. 

'' Luddly, aa I then tiiought^ an oppor- 
tunity presented itsdf of passing the night 
more agreeably than I expected. Onnsen* 
tioniug my design, of. proceeding by my- 
s^to Strasbourg, the postillion, shook hia 
head in disapprobation* 

* It? is a long way,* smd be ; * you will 
find it a ^diflScult matter to arrive th«re 
without a guide: besides^ monsieur seems 
unaccustomed to the season's severity; and 
'tis possible that, unable to. sustain the ex- 
cessive cold' 



a90 THE MOKK. 

^ What use is there to present me with 
all these objections ?' said I, impatiently 
interrupting him : ^ I have no other re* 
source; I run still greater risk of perish* 
ing with cold by passing the night in the 
ibrest' 

' Passing the night in Hie forest T he 
replied: * oh, by St. Uenis ! we are not in 
^so bad a plight as that comes to yet. If 
I am not mistaken, vae are scarcely five 
minutes' waUc from the cottage of my old 
firirad Baptiste : he is a woodcutter, and 
a very honest Jellow. I doubt not but he 
• will shelter .you for the night with plea- 
sure, in the meantime, I can take the 
saddle-horse, ride to Strasbourg, and be 
back with proper pec^le to mend your 
carriage by break of day.' 
. ^ And in the name of God,' said I, * how 
could you leave me so long in suspense? 
why. did you not tell me of this cottage 
sooner? What excessive stupidity !' 

' I thought, that perhaps monsijeiir 
would not deign to accept- 



*/ Absurd! Ck>me, come, say no mcxre, 
%ut conduct us without delay to the wood- 
man's cottage.' 

" He obeyed, atid we moved onwards: 
the horses icontrived, with some difficulty^ 
to drag the shattered vehicle after us. My 
servant was become almost speechless, and 
I began to feel the eifects of the cold my- 
self before we reached the wished-for cot- 
tage. It was a smail but neat building : 
as we drew near it, 1 rejoiced at 4>bserving 
through the- window the blaze of a com- 
fortable fire. Our conductor knocked at 
the door : it was some lime before any 
one answered ; the people within seemed 

9 

in. doubt whetiier we should be admit :^ 
* C!ome, come^ fiiend BaptdsteT pried 
the driver with impatience; * what are 
you about? Arp you asleep ? Or will you 
refuse a night's lodging to a gentleman, 
whose chaise hps just broken down in the 
jforest?' 
^Ah ! jsit youj honest Claude?' replied 



19£ THE HONK 

a man's vcnee from vniMn : ^ wait a md^ 
ihent, and the door aliatt be op^ied.' 

** Soon after the bolts were drawn back> 
the door was unclosed, flhd a fiian preset* 
ed himself to us with a lamp ill his hand : 
he ga^e the guide a hearty reception, 
and diefn addi^ssed himself to ine:^~ 

* Walk in, monsieur — walk in, and wel* 
coiue. Esrcuse me for not admitting you 
at first; but there are so many rogues 
about this place, th^ saving your pre* 
sence, I suspected you to be one/ 

'* Thus raying, he ushered me into the 
room where I had observed the fire. • I 
wn immedktely plaeed in an easy chair, 
whfeh stood dose to the Hearth. A fe- 
male, whom I supp6sed to^ be the wife of 
my Uost^ r6s& from her seat upon tay en- 
trance, alid r^ieeived me with a sfight and 
distant revei^ikfe; ^e nsade ilo answer 
to my eom{>limelit, but immediately re- 
setting herself, continued the work on 
which she had been em|pl<^ed«^ Her^'hus- 



THE MOISK, 19S 

l)ana's manners were as fii^dlyas hen 
were harsh and repulsive. 

* I wish I could lodge you move Conve- 
niently, monsieur/ said he, * b»t we <»n- 
not boast of much spare room in this ho- 
vel. However, a chamber for yourself 
and another for your servant, I think we 
can make shift to supply. You mu«tx;on* 
terit yourself with sorry fere; but to what 
we have, believe ifee, you ^re heartily wel- 
come.' — ^Then turning to his wife— i* Why, 
how you sit there. Marguerite, with as 
much tranquillity as if you had nothing 
better to do ! Stir about, 4ame ! stir about ! 
Get some supper ; look out some sheets. 
Here, herel throw some logs upon the 
fire, for the gentleman seems perished 
with cold.* 

"The wife threw tier work hastily upoii 
the table, and proceeded to execute feis 
commands with every mark of unwilfing- 
ness. Her countenance had displeased 
me on the first moment of my examining 
it : yet, upon the whde, her features wen? 

VOL. I. K 



194 TKE IfOMK. 



.)! If. lil. 



unquestionably; but her skiif 
was sallow, and her perscm thin and mea« 
gre; a louring gloom overspread her coun« 
tenance, and it bore such visible marks of 
xancodr atid ill- will as Qould not escape 
being noticed by the most inattentive ob« 
aerv^r : her every look and action express* 
ed discontent and impatience; and the 
answers which she gave Baptiste, when 
he reproachisd her good-humouredly fi» 
her dissatisfied Air, were taii^ short, and 
cuttings . In fine, I concaved at first sight 
equal disgust for her and prepossession in 
favotfr of her husband, whose appearance 
was tiedoulated to inspire esteem and com 
fidence. His countenance was open^ sin« 
toe^ and IHendly ; his manners had all 
the peasant's honesty, unaccompanied by 
his Fudenesdf; his cheeks were b^oad, full» 
BixA ruddy, and in the solidity of his per- 
son he seemed 'to offer an ample apology 
for the leanness of his wife's. From the 
wrinkles on his brow, I judged him to be 
toned of sixty; but l^ bore his years 



VSSS, MONK. 19^ 

veil, and seemed s^ hearty and strong. 
The wife eould not be moore than thirty^ 
but in ^Ests and ^vacity she was infinite^ 
ly older than the husband. 

*^ However, in spite oif hsc unwilling* 
ness, Harguerite began to prepare the 
suppar, while the woodman oonvased 
^gai^ on different subjects. The postil« 
Hon, who had been famished with a bot- 
tle of spirits, was npw readf^ to set out fi)r 
a^lxL* »d inquired whea^rlW 
;any further oopunands; 

* For Strasbourg!' interrupted B^ 
iliste; * you are not goii^ Hut^er to* 
night?' 

• I beg your pardon: if I do not fetck 
workmen to mend tbe€!haase,howis rnoai^ 
sieur to proceed to-m(»Tow ?' 

^ That HI true, as you sayx I had for* 
gotten the ohsose. Wdil, but» Claude^ 
you may at leosA eat your «upper heie? 
That can make you kuse very little time; 
^and monsieur looks too kind-hearted to 

K 2 



iO^ •rHiJ MONK. 

siend you out with an empty stomacli <rfi 
«uch a bitter cold night as this is.* 

* ** To this I readily assented, telling th^ 
postiUion that my reaching Stnisix)urg the 
riext day an hour or twd later would l)e 
j[)erfefetly immateriaL He thanked hie,* 
and then leaving the cottage with Ste-^ 
phano, put up his horses in the wood-. 
man's stable. Baptiste followed them to 
^e door, and looked out with anxiety. 

* 'Tis a sharp, biting wind/ said he : * I 
wondCT what detains my boys so longf 
Monsieur, I shall shew you two of the 
finest lads that ever stepped in shoe or 
leather: the eldest is three-and-twenty, 
tlie second ^ year younger : their equals 
for sense, courage, and activity, are not to 
be found within fifty miles of Strasbourg, 
Would they were back again! I begin to 
feel uneasy about them/ 

*• Marguerite was at this time employ- 
ed in laying the cloth. 

* * And are you equally anxious for the^ 
return of your sons P' siid I to her. 



THE MOKKi 197 

* Not I,' she replied peevishly ; * tiiey 
are no children of mine*' 

' Come, come. Marguerite^' said the 
hushand, ' do not be out of humour witlx 
the gentleman for asking a simple ques- 
tion: had you not looked so cross, he 
would never have thought you old enough 
to have a son of three-and-twenty ; but 
you see how many years ill-temper adds 
to you. — Excuse my wife's rudenesSj 
monsieur; a little thing puts her out, 
and she is somewhat displeased at your not 
thinking her to be under thirty. — That is 
the truth, is it not. Marguerite? — ^You 
know> monsieur, that age is always a tick- 
lish subjfBct with a woman. — Come, come, 
Marguerite^ clear up a little. If you have 
not sons as old,^ you will some twenty years 
hence; and I hope that we shall live to see 
them just such lads as Jacques and Ro- 
bert' , 

" Marguerite clasped her bands toge- 
th|5r passionately; 

* God forbid !' said she, ♦ God forbid I 

K 3 



1^ »BK MoMr. 

If I thought it, I would strasgle them 
with my own hands/ 

^ She quitted the room htstOy^ and 
went up stairs. 

** I could not hdp expressing to the 
woodman how much I pitied him, for 
being chained for life to a partner of such 
ill-humour. 

*Ab, Lordf monsieur, every one has 
his share of grievances, and Margiierite 
has fallen to mine. Besides, after all, she 
is only cross, and not malicious : the worst 
is, that heir aifectlon^ foi^ two children by a 
former husband makes her play the step- 
mother with my two sons; she cannot 
bear the sight of them, and by her good 
will, they would never set a foot withia 
my door. But on this point I always 
atand firm, and never will Qohsent t0 aban* 
don the poor lads to the world's mercy, as 
she has often solicited roe to do. In every 
thing else, I let her have her own way ; 
and . truly she manages a family rarely, that 
I must say for her/ 



<» We were conversing in this manner, 
when our discourse was interrupted by af 
loud haUoOy which rang through the 
forest 

* My softs, I hope P exclumed the wood- 
man, and ran to open the door. 

•* The halloo was repeated. We now 
distinguished the tramj^ng of horses; and 
Mon ajdter, a carriage attended by several 
cavaliers stopped at the cottage door. One 
of the horsemen inquired how far they 
were still from Strasbourg. As be ad- 
dressed himself to me, I answered in the 
number of miles which Claude had told 
toe ; upon which a volley of curses was 
vented against the drivers for having lost 
their way. The persons in the coach wer0 
now informed of the distance iji Stras« 
bourg; and also that the horses were 96 
&t}gued as to be incapable of proceeding 
further. A lady, who appeared to be the 
principal, expressed much chagrin at this 
intelligence ; but as there was no remedy^ 
one pf the attendants asked the woodman 

K 4 



.♦ • 

whether he could furnish them Mrith 10%- 
ing for the night 

^' He seemed much embarrassed, and 
replied in the negative ; adding, that a 
Spanish gentleman and his servant were 
already in possession of the only i^pare 
apartments in his house.* On hearing this, 
the gallsmtry of my nation would not per- 
mit me to retain those accommodation^ c^ 
which a female was in want. I instantly 
signified to the woodman^ that I transf^ 
red my right to the lady : ,he made some 
objections, but I overruled them, and has^^ 
tening to the earriage* opened the door,, 
and assisted the lady to descend. I ime- 
luediately recognized her for the same per^. 
son whom I had seen at the inn at Lune* 
yifie^Jt^cik an opportunity of asking one 
of her attendants w;hat was her name ? 

*The baroness Lindenberg,* yas the 

Wbwer. J 

;^ ^ I CQuld not but remark how diflferwt 
a reception our host had given these new- 
comers and myself His reluctance to ad- 




THE HONIS:. SOI 

xnit them was visibly expressed ota his 
countenance; and he prevailed o» himself 
with difficulty to tell the lady that she 
was welcome. I conducted her into the 
house^ and placed her in the ieu'm-chair 
which I had just quitted. She thanked 
me very graciously, and made a thousand 
apolc^es fpr putting me to an inconve*^ 
nience. . Suddenly the woodmau's cpun^ 
tenance cleared up. 

* At last I have arranged it r said he, 
interrupting her excuses. ' * I can lodge 
you and your suite, madam,, and you mkl 
fiot be under the necessity of making this 
gentlemah. suffer for his politeness. We 
have two spare chambers, one for the lady, 
the other, monsieur, for you: my wife 
shall give up hers ta the two waiting- wo- 
men : as for the men-servants, they must 
content themselves with passing the night 
in a large barn^ which stands at a few yalrds' 
distance fropi the house i there they sbalj 
have a blazing fire,, and as-good a supper 
as we can make shift to give them.' 

K 5 



sot THE iicnsx. 

** After seyenl expressions of gratitade 
OB the lady's part, and opposition on mine^ 
to Marguerite's giving up her bed, this 
arrangement was agreed to. As the room, 
was ismall^ the baroness immediately dis^ 
missed her male domestics. Baptiste was 
im the pdnt of eondttd;ing them to the 
barn which he had mentioned^ when two 
young men appeared at the door of the 
cottage. 

* Hell and furies P exclaimed the firs^ 
starting baek^ ^ Robert, the house is filled 
with strangers f 

' ' Ha! there are my sons!' cried our 
host. . * Why, Jacques ! Bpbert ! whither 
are you running, boys? There is room 
enough still for you.': 
. ** Upon this assurance the youths re- 
turned. The father presented them to 
the baroness and myself; after which he 
withdrew with our domestics, while, at 
the request of the two waiting-women, 
Miirguerite conducted them to the roonii 
designed jK^r their jnistress. 



I.. 



TUB HOHX. MS 

• The two new-ootners were tall, stout, 
imU-made young men, hardfeatured, and 
very muph sunburnt They paid their 
eompUments to us in few woids, and ac- 
knowledged Claude, who now entered the 
room, as an old acquaintance. They then 
threw aside their cloaks, m which they 
were wrapped up, took off a leathern belt, 
to which a large cutlass was suspended, 
and each drawing a brace of pistols &om 
his girdle, laid them upon a shelf. 

* You travel well armed,' said I. 

^ True, monskur,' replied Robert. *We 
left Strasbourg late this evening, and 'tis 
necessary to take precautions at passing 
through this forest after dark : it does not 
bear a good repute, I promise you.* 

^ HowP said the baroness, ^ are there 
robbers hereabout ?* 

' So it is said, madam : for my own 
part, I have travelled through the wood 
at aU hours, and never met with one of 
them.' 

" Here Marguerite returned. Her 

k6 



SM VHE uom. 

stepioils drew ha to the ether end of 
the xoomi and whispered her for itome 
minufes. By tibe looks which they ca%t 
towards tis at intervals, I conjectured 
them to be inquiring our business in the 
cottage. 

^ In the meanwhile, .the bfixt)Hess exr 
pressed her apprehension lh£(i her husband 
would be suffering much anxdety upon 
her account. She had intended to send on 
one of her servants to inform the baron of 
her delay; but the account which the 
young, men gave of the forest rendered this 
plan impracticable. Claude relieved her 
from her emban^usm^it : he informed her 
that he was under the nee^essity of reachr 
ing Strasbourg that night; and thai; 
would she trust him witii a letter, she 
might depend upon iU being safely deli^ 
vered. 

• ' And how comes it,' said I, * that yott 
are under no apprehension of meeting 
these robbers ?* 

* Alas, monsieur ! a poor man with a 



f HE MOKH. SK^ 

Isrge family must not lose certain profit 
because 'tis attended with a little danger ; 
and perhaps my lord the baron may give 
me a trifle for my pains : besides, I have 
nothing to lose except my life; and that 
will not be worth the robbers' taking.' 

''I thought his arguments bad, and ad^ 
vised his waiting till the morning ; but 
as the baroness did not second me, I was 
obliged to give up the point. The baro- 
ness Lindenberg, as I found afterwards, 
had long been accustomed to saqrifice the 
interests of others to her own, and her 
wish to send Claude to Strasbourg blind* 
ed her to the danger of the undertaking. 
Accordingly it was resolved that he should 
set out without delay. The baroness wrote 
her letter to her husband ; and I sent a few; 
lines to my banker, apprising him that I 
should not be at Strasbourg till the next 
day. Claude took our letters, and left the 
cottage. 

" The lady declared herself much fa* 
tigued by her journey : besides having 



906^ twt MOKt. 

(tome from soifie distance, the drivers had 
contrived to lose their way in the forest 
She now addressed herself to Marguerite, 
desiring to be shewn to her diamber, and 
permitted to take half-an-houi^s repose. 
One of the Waltitig-wotnen was immedi- 
ately sumnloned; she appeared with a 
light, and the' baroAess followed her up 
stairs. Tiie cloth wsis spreading in the 
chamber where I was, and Marguerite soon 
gave me to undei^stand that i was^ in her 
Way. Her hints were toa broad to be 
easily mistaken ; I ther^ot^ desired one 
of the young meft to oonduct me to the 
chamber where I was to sleep, and where 
I could remain till su^^per wdsi residy. 

* Which chamber is^ i^ mother ?' said 
Robert. 

' The one with gi^en hangih^s,' she re- 
plied. * I have just been at the trouble di 
getting it ready, and have put firesh sheets 
upon the bed : if the gentleman chooses to 
lollop and lounge upon it, he may make it 
again himtself for me.' 



TfiE honk:. 207 

* You are out of humour, motter-— but 
that is no novelty. — ^Have the goodness t6 
follow me, monsieur/ 

. ** He opened the door^ and advaneed to* 
Tvaids a narrow staircase. 

* You have got no light,' said Margue-^ 
rite ; ' is it your own neck, or the gentle*- 
man!s, that you have a mind to break ?' 

^' She crossed by me, and put a candle 
into Robert's hand; having received which 
he began to ascend the staircase. Jacques 
was employed in laying the cloth, and his 
back was turned towards me« Marguerite 
seized the moment when we were unob« 
served : she caught my hand, and pressed 
it strongly.*—' Look at the sheets!' said 
3he, as she passed me, and immediately 
resumed her former occupation. 

" Sta];tled by the abruptness of her ac- 
tion, I remained as if petrified. Robert's 
voice, desiring me to follow hiib, recalled 
me to myself. I ascended the staircase. 
My conductor ushered me into a cham- 
ber>. where an excellent wood . fire wa3 



SOS 7S£ HONir. 

blazing fip<m the hearlii. He placed tlie 
Mght upon the table, inquu^ whether I 
had any further eonlmands } and» on my 
replying in the negative, left me to nayself. 
You may be certain that the raoment 
when I foiind myself akme was that 'on 
which I complied with Marguerite's in-* 
junction.— I took the candle, hasHly apr 
proached the bed, and turned down -the 
coverture. What was my afitomshmwti 
my horror, at finding die sheets crimsoned 
with blood t 

" At that moment a thousand ooafiised 
ideas passed before my imagination. The 
robbers who infested the wood — Margue- 
rite's exclamation i^specting'her childipen— 
the arms and appearance of the two young 
men — and the various anecdotes which 
I had heard related respecting the secret 
correspondence which fifequtotly exists 
between banditti and postilKons ; all these 
drcumstahces flashed upon my mind, aiid 
inspired me with doubt and apprehen- 
sion. I ruminated on the most probable 



tftE MONK. aOd" 

fio«ans of ascertaining the truth of my con- 
jectttres. Suddenly I was aware of some; 
one below pacing hastily backwards and 
forwards. Eveiy thing now appeared to 
me an otgect of suspcion. With precau- 
tion I d]%w near the window^ which; as^ 
the room had been long, shut up, was left 
open in spite of the colld.. I ventured to, 
look out. The beams of the moon per- 
mitted me to distinguish a m^ri, whom I. 
had no dif&culty to recognize for my host. 
I watched his movements.. He walked- 
swiftly^ then stopped and seemed to lis- 
ten : h^ stamped upon the ground, and 
beat his stomach with his arms, as if to 
guard himself from the inclemency of the 
season : at the least noise — if a voice, was 
heard in the lower part of the house— if ^^ 
bat flitted past him, or the wind rattled 
amidst the leafless boughs, he started, and 
k)oked round with anxiety. 

* Plague take him T said he^ at length,, 
with extreme impatience ; * what can he 
be about ?* 



910 9HES HONK. 

** He spobe in a low ydiee ; but as he 
W83 Just below my window, I had no dMBk 
culty to distinguish his woids« 

*^ I now heard the steps^of one spproach^ 
ing; Baptiste w«it towards the sound ; 
he joined a man, whom his low stature 
and the hora suspended from hi» neck 
declared to be no other than my faiths 
ful Claude, whom I had supposed fo be 
already on his way to Strasbourg^ Ex^ 
peeting their discourse to throw some 
toght upon my situation, I hastened to' 
put myself in a condition to hear it with 
safety. Fw this purpose I extinguish^ 
ed the candle, which stood upon a table 
near the bed : the flame of the fire was 
not strong voiough to betray me, and i 
immediately resumed my place at the 
window. 

" The objects of my curiorfty had sta- 
tioned themselves directly under it I 
suppose that, during my momentary ab- 
sence, the woodman luul been blaming 
Claude for tardiness, since, when I return* 



ed' to the window, the latter was endea- 
vouring to excuse his fault 

* However,* added he, * my diligence at 
present shall make np for my past delay/ 

^ On that condition,' answered Baptiste, 
' I idiall readily forgive you : But in truth, 
as you share equally with us m our prizes, 
your own interest will make you use all 
possible diligence. Twould be a shame 
to let sudi a noble booty escape us. You 
say that this Spaniard is rich T 

* His servant boasted at the inn that the 
effects in his chaise were worth above two 
thousand pistoles/ 

** Oh, how I cursed Stepbano's impru* 
dent vanity! 

« And I have been told,* continued the 
postillion, * that this baroness carries about 
her a casket of jewels, of immense value.* 

^ May be so ; but I had rather she had 
staid away. The Spaniard was a secure 
prey — ^the boys and myself could easily 
have mastered him and his servant, and. 
then the two thousand pistoles would have 



SIS THE HON& 

been shared between us four, l^ow we* 
must let in the band for a share, and* perr 
haps the whole covey may escape us* 
Should our friends have betaken them- 
selves to their different posts before you 
reach the cavern, all will be lost i the 
lady's attendants are too numerous for us 
to overpower them. Unless our associates 
arrive in tiine^ we must needs l^t these 
travellers set out to-mprrow, without da* 
mage or hurt.* 

* Tis plaguy unlucky that my com- 
rades who drove the coach should be thosQ 
unacquainted with our confederacy ! — Put 
never fear, friend Baptiste*-an hour will 
bring me to the cavern : it is-now b^t tea 
o'clock, and by tw^ve :you may expect 
the arrival of the band. By tb? by €^ ;tak« 
care of your wife : you know how strong 
is her repugnance to ouf mode o£ life; 
and she may find means to give information 
to the lady's servants of our design.' 

* Oh, I am secure of h^ silence ; . she ii 
too much afraid of me, and fond of Jier 



THE MOKKv 213 

^BSdren, to dare to betray my secret. Be-' 

• 

isides, Jacques aiid Robert keep a strict eye 
over her, and she is iiot permitted to set 
S focrt out of the cottage. The servants 
are safely lodged in the bam. I shall eiv- 
^arvour to keep all quiet till the arrivd 
of our friends. Were I assured of your 
finding them, the strangers should be dis- 
patehed this instant ; but as it is possible 
for you to miss the banditti, I am fearful 
of being summoned by their domestics to 
produce them in the morning.' 

•* And suppose either of the travellers 
should discover your deiSign;?* 

• Then we must poniard those in our 
power, and take our <*hance about master- 
ihg :(;he rest. However, to avoid running 
«uch a risk, liasten to the cavern ; the 
banditti never leave it before eleven — :and 
if you use diligence, you may reach it in 
time to stop themi' 

" Tell Robert that I bave iaken liis 
liorse I wy own has broken his bridle, and 



escaped into the wood. Whtftls the wid:<slh 
"woid?* 

* The teward of courage.* 

< 'Tis sufficient — ^I hasten to the ca^ 
yem4* 

^ And I to rejolii my guests, lest mf 
absence should create suspicion. FareweU^ 
and he difigent.' 

'' These worthy associates now isepanu 
ted : ^ one bent his course towards the 
:6table» while Ihe other returned to ^ 
house. 

, ^' You n^y judge whrt must ha^e been 
my feelings during die conversatMn, of 
which I lost «K>t a sin^ syllable. I dared 
not trust m^y self to my reflectkniSy nor did 
any means present itself to escape the dan- 
gers whidi threatened me. Besistance I 
knew to be vain : I was unarmed^ and a 
single man against three. However^ I re* 
solved at least to «ell my Gfe as dearly as 
I joouldr ..Dreading lest Baptiste should 
p^ceive my absence, and suspect me ta 



THSM0)9ft ftl5 

li&tts' OT^heard the mesaage with whieh 
Chude was dispatehed, I hastily relighted 
my eandle» and quitted the chamben On 
descendiilg, I found the table spread for 
six persdn^ The barcmess sat by the fire« 
Aide; Marguerite was employed in dress* 
in^ a iaHadt and hei* stepsons were whis^ 
pering together at the furtha* end of the 
rooiiL Baptiste having the round of the 
j^arden to make ere he coold readi the 
cottiCge docHT, was not yet arrived. I seat* 
ed myself quietly (^posite to the baronessy 

^' A glance upon Marguerite told her- 
Ibat her hint had not been thrown away 
i^jpon me^ How different did she now ap^ 
pear to me ! What before seemed gloom* 
and sullenness^ I now found to be disgust 
at her associates^ and compassion fdr my 
danger. I looked up to her as to my only 
resource % yet knowing h» to be watched 
by her husband with a suqpidous ^e, I 
cotiid place but little relia&ce on the ex^« 
iio^Eis of her g6od will 

f In spite of all my endeRYOurs to con* 



«16 *HE MONK. 

teal it, my agitation was but too visTbly 
expressed upon my countenance. I was 
pale, ancl both my words 'Wid actions were 
disordered and embarrassed. The young 
men observed this, and inquired the cause. 
I attributed it to excess of fetigue, and 
the violent ^flfiect produced on me by the 
severity of the season. Whether thqr 
believed me or not, I will^Ot^iretend to 
say ; fhey at least ceased to embarrass me 
with their questions. I strove to divert 
my attention from the perils which sur- 
roimded me, by conversing on diflferent 
subje^^ts with the 1)aroness. 1 talked of 
Germany, declaring my intention of visit- 
ing it immediately — God knoWs^at I lit- 
lle thought'^t that moment <rf ev^ seeing 
it ! She replied to me with great ease and 
politeness; professed that the pleasure of 
making/my acquaintance amply xxnnpen- 
sated 'for« the delay in her journey, and 
gave me a pressing invitation ip madce 
some stay at the castle of Liiidenberg. 
As she spoke thus, the j^ouths^exdbanged 



TSCE MOMX. SI7 

a iiia6<nou8 smfle, ivbich declared that she 
^ould be fortunate if she ever reached that 
castle herself. Thkk action did not escape 
me; but I concealed Ibe emoticm whidi if 
excited in my breast I continued to c<m>- 
varse with the lady ; . but my discourse was 
so frequency incoherent, tiu^ as «he has 
since informed me» she began to doubt 
whether I was in my ri^^t senses. The 
fact was, that while my conversation turn* 
ed upon one subject, my thoughts were 
entirely occupied by anothen I meditated 
upon the means of quitting the cottage, 
finding my way to the bam, and giving 
the domestics information of oui: host's 
deagns. I was S009 conyinoed how im« 
practicable was the attempt Jacques and 
Robert watched my every movement with 
an attentive eye, and I was obliged to 
abandon the idea. All my hopes now 
rested upon Claude's not finding tiie bdn-. 
ditti: in that case, according to what liiad 
overheard, we. should be permitted to de-^ 
part unhurt 
voi>. u h 



I21g VBE Mcnnr. 

■« I «hBddeted> ittTdhrotarily a» Ba^tff 
eattveA the wwm. He made many ap» 
logies for lib long absence, .but ' he had 
been detained by afl&irs impro^bteto^be 
deteyed.' He then entreated penniteion 
iot bis ftmilyto Mipat tbe^same-taW* 
with us, without which, respect- wouM 
iiot «uthori2;e hi? taking -snch a Kberty. 
• Oh haw in my ke^rt I cHirted the hyi 
poortte ! ; hew T toatbed bis pireseiice, who 
was'dti the pcJint of dejAivitig; m«f of 
an existence at that time infinitely deaf? 
I h?d e^epy reas6tt t^ be isati^ed with 
life ; I had youth, wealth, rank» aijd edu- 
cation, arid *he fairest prospects pi^sented 
themselves befoife me. I saw thofc pros^ 
pectson the poipt of dosiftglft the most 
horrible manner : yet was I'obliged^o dis- 
simulate, and to receive, wirti a semblance 
of *gtatitude, thfe felse civilities of Him who 
held thfe dlagg^r to niy< bosonsi.- ' 
' «• The permission ' i^^feh our " htest deJ 
manded wa« eas^y obtained.- Wfe seated 
, ourselves at the table. The baronet «jd 
myself occupied one^side; thesitasW^e 



Dppdstte ^to U8, trkh thek bteks 'to the 
idoor. Bapti^te took his seat by the ba. 
rbness, at the upper ^d; and theplacf 
next ta \mi waa left for his wife. She 
fioon entered the room, and placed before 
us > plain b^ comfortable peasant's re«- 
past Our host thought it necessary to 
apologize for the poorness of the supper : 
"^ he had not been apprized of our coming; 
iie could only offer us such fare as had 
been intended for his own family.' 

* But/ added he, ' should any accident 
detain my noble gu£sts longer than they 
at present intai4 I hope to give them a, 
better treatment.' 

** The villain ! I well knew the acci. 
dent to )vhich he alluded. I shuddered 
at the treatment which he taught us to 
expefct. 

^ My companion in danger stemed en« 
tirely to have got rid of her chagrin at he* 
ing delayed. She laughed, and conversed 
jvith the family with infinite gjiiety. J 
strove, but in vain, to ibUoi^ her exaij^plei 

L 2 



-820 TBfiE HONK. 

My spirits were evidently forced, and th* 
constraint which I put upon myself escaped 
not Baptiste's observation. 

* Come, come, monsieur, cheer up ? said 
Jie ; * you seem not quite recovered from 
your fatigue. To raise your spirits, what 
say you to a glass of excellent old wine, 
which was left me by my father? God 
rest his soul! he is in a better world. I 
seldom produce this wine ; but as I am 
not honoured with such guests every day, 
this is an occasion which deserves a bottle.' 

*• He then gave his wife a key, BXid in- 
structed her where to find the wine of 
which he spoke. She seemed by no means 
pleased with the c6mmission ; she took 
the key with an embarrassed air> and he» 
Stated to quit the table. . ^ 

^ Did you h^ar me ?' said Baptiste, in an 
angry tone. 

" Marguerite darted upcm him a look of 
mingled anger and fear, and left the diam<t 
ber. His eyes followed her suspiqiouslya 
till she had cloced the door* 



*• Sbe soon returned, Vith a bottle seal 
ed with yellow wax. She jplaced it upoa 
the table, and gave the key back to her 
husband. I suspected that this liquor \vas 
not presented to ais without design, atid I 
watched Marguerite's movements v^ith 
inquietude. She was employed in rinsing 
some small horn goblets. As she placed 
them l^fore Baptiste, she saw that my eye 
was fixed upon her ; and at the moment 
when she thought herself unobserved by. 
the banditti, she motioned to me with her 
head not to ta^e the liquon She then re-^ 
sumexl her place* 

^ In the meanwhile our host had drawn 
the cwk, and filling two <^ the goblets, of^ 
fered them to the lady and myself. Shtf 
at first made some objections ; but the in* 
stances of Baptiste were so urgent, that 
slie was obliged to comply. Fearing to^ 
exdte suspicion, I hesitated not to take 
the goblet presented to me. By its smelL 
aad colour,, I guessed it to be champaign ;. 
but some grams of powder floating upoxi: 

i-3 



the top eohvinced me that it was tiot un- 
adulterated. However, I dared not to ex* 
press my repugnanee to drinking it; I lift- 
ed it to my lips» and seemed to be swal- 
lowing it : suddenly storting from my 
chair, I made the best of my way towards 
9 vase of water sft some distance, in whidi 
Marguerite had been rinsing the goblets. 
I pretended to spit out the wine with dis^ 
gust, and took an opportunity, unperceiv- 
ed, of emptying the liquor into the vase. 

" The banditti seemed alarmed at my 
action. Jaeques half rose Seem his cha^, 
put his hand into his bosotai, and I ^sco« 
vered the haft of a dagger. I returned to 
my seat with tranquillity, and «flPaeted not 
to have observed their caiilbsion« 
' ^ You have not suited. my tastOi honest 
frknd,^ said I, addressing myself to Bap- 
tiarte ; ' I never can drink cbampaigii with- 
out its producing a vkdent filne^ I «wd- 
Ibwed a few mouthfuls ere I was aware of 
its quality, and fear that I shall l«tiSer f&r 
my juprodence.* ^ 



THE mqhk: tSi 

r <* Baptiste and Jacques ^xcbange^^^ks 
of distrust. 

^ Perhaps,' ssdd Bx>bert^ ' tbe smell 91^ 
be disagreeable to you?' 

** He quitted liis chiaii^ and rem6ved th^ 
goblet* I observed that he examiued wh^ 
ther it was nearly empty. 

' He must have drank solficiehV s&id lie 
to bis brother, in a low YOice» while he re- 
seated Mrnself. 

«< Margiitrite looked apprefaendiTe that I 
ha4 tast^ the liquor. A ^nce from my 
eye re»as8ured her. 

^ I waited with anxiety for the tifects 
which the beverage would prodade upon 
the lady. I doubted not faut> the graini 
wbiah I had observed were poisonous;, and 
la;m^nted th^t it had been impossibte for 
me t<^ warn her of the danger. But a few 
teinuteis had elipsed^ before I perceived 
her eyes grow heavy ; her head sunk u^ii 
her ^K>ulder, and she fell into a deep sl*ep. 
lafitet^ net i^ attend to this cwcum^ 

l4 



.stanae, and ccmtiinied my coht^rsatbn 

with Baptiste, with all the outward gaie^ 

ty ii> my power to assume : but he no 

longer answered me without constraiiit; 

be eyed me with distrust and astcMiisli* 

xnent; and I saw that the bandittt were 

frequently whispering among themselves. 

My situation became every moment more 

painful : I sustsdoed the diaraeter of con« 

fidence with a worse grace thaA even 

Equally afraid of the iBurival of their ao» 

-complices, and of their suspecting my 

knowledge of their designs^ I knew not 

liow to dissipate the distrust which the 

banditti* evidently entertained for me. In 

this new dilemma the friendly Marguerite 

a^n asmted ma She passed behind the 

f hairs of her stepsons^ stopped for a mi>f 

ment opposite to ine^ dosed her eyf s^.and 

reclined her head upon her sh^lder. Tliis 

bint iiAmediateiy dispelled n^y^incerti^ude 

--^t'told me th^ I ought to imitate the 

bwoness/. fttjd pretend that tiHeli^ior hsA 

% a 



THE MONKi 223: 

taken its full effect upon me. I did so^, 
and in a few minutes seemed perfectly 
overcome with slumber. 

* So !' cried Baptiste> as I fell back in my" 
chair, ^ at last he sleeps ! I began to think 
that he had scented our design, and that 
Ave should have been forced to dispatch him^ 
at all events,' 

* And why not dispatch him at all 
events?' inquired the ferocious Jacques. 
'.Why leave him the possibility of betray- 
ing our secret? Marguerite, give me one 
of my pistols — a single touch of the trig-f 
ger will finish him at once.' 

* And supposing,' rejoined the father/ 
• supposing that our friends should not ar- 
rive to-nigh ti a pretty figure we should 
make wh^n the servants inquire for him 
in the morning! No, no, Jacques; we 
xiQUst wait for our associates^ : if they joia 
u^: we are strong enpijigh to dispatch the 
domestics as well as their masters, and the.^ 
booty is our own. If Claude dbes not 
find the troop^ we must take patienoe^ and 



iSS THE moi^b:. 

suffer the prey to slip through our fingers. 
Ah, boys, boys ! had you arrived but five 
minutes sooner, the Spaniard would have 
been done for, and two thousand pistoles 
eur own. But you are always out of the 
way when you are most wanted. You are 
^ most unlucky rogues— — ^ 

• Well, well, father,' answered Jacques, 
/ had you been of my mind,* all would 
have been over by this time. You, Ro- 
bert, Claude, and myself— why, the stran- 
gers were but double the number ; and, I 

Wsarrant jrou, we might have mastered 
them. However, Claude is gone ; His too 
late to think of it now.. We must wait 
patiently for the arrival of the gang ; and 
if the travelers esqape us to-night, we 
must take tare to way-l^jrthem to-mor- 
rbw.* 

•True, true!' said Baptiste.—*; Margue- 
rite, halve you given the sleeping draught 
to th^ waiting-women ?* 

*' She replied in the affirmative. 
; f AJl then is safe. Come^ pome, b^ys ; 



tttE MONK, 2V7 

whatever falls oiit» we have no reason to 
complain of this adventure. We run aa 
danger, may gain much, and can lose no- 
thing.' 

** At this moment I heard a trampling 
of horses. Oh, how dreadful was the 
sound to my ears ! A cold sweat flowed 
down my forehead, and I felt all th6 ter- 
rors of impending death. I was by no 
means reaasored by heuing the comtMus- 
sionate Marguerite exdaim, in the acoents 
of despair — 
i * Almighty God ! they are lost !' 

" Luckily the woodman and bis sons 
were too much occupied by the arrival of 
their associates to attend to me; or the 
violence of my agitation would hare ccm* 
vkiced them that my sleep was feigned. 

* Open ! open !' exclaimed aei'eral voice* 
oki the out^e of the cottage. 

• Yes, yesT cried Baptiste, joyfUlIy; 
••they are our friends, sure enough. Now, 
then, our booty is certain. Away! lads, 
away ! lead them to the bam ; you knoV 
what is to be dbne there/ 

l6 




228 THE MoNir. 

« *^ Robert 'hastaied to open the door of^ 
tb6 cottage. 

' But first,^ said Jacques, taking up his 
arms, ^ first let me dispatch these sleepers.' ' 

* No, no, no T replied his father : * go 
you to the bam, where your presence is- 
wanted. Leave me to take care of these 
and the women above.' 

^* Jacques obeyed, and fc^owed his 
brother. They seemed to cDP ve r se with 
the new-comers for a few minutes; afta^ 
which I heard the robbers dismount, and, 
as I conjeetured,. bend their course towards 
the bam. 

' So! that is wisely doner muttered 
Baptiste; ^ they have quitted their horses, 
that they may fall upon the strangers by 
surprise. Good ! good ! and now to busi- 
ness.' 

^^ I heard him approach a small cupboard 
which was fixed up in a distant part of 
the room, and unlock it. . At this mo* 
ipent I felt myself shaken gently. 

^Now! now!' whispered Marguerite. 



THE MOKC« i29 

" 1 opeited my eyes* Baptiste stood with' 
his back towards me. No <me dse was^ 
in the room, save Marguerite and the. 
sleeping lady. The villain had taken a 
dagger from the cupboard, and seemed ex-^- 
amintng whether it was sufficiently sharp* 
I had neglected to furnish myself with- 
arms ; but I {)erceived thi» to be my only 
chance of escaping, and resolved not to 
lose the opportunity. I sprang from my 
seat, darted suddenly upon Baptiste* and 
clasping my hands round his throat, press* 
ed it so forcibly as to prevent his uttering 
a single cry. You may remember, that I ; 
was remarkable at Salamanca for the ppwer^ 
of my arm. It now rendered m^e an es- 
sential service. Surprised, terrified, and 
breathless, the villam was by no means an 
equal antagonist. I threw him upon the 
ground ; I grasped him still ttghter, and 
while I fixed, him without motion upon : 
the floor, Marguerite, wresting the dag% - 
ger from his hand, plunged it repeatedly^ 
in his heart till be expired. 



1130 TH£ MOKir. 

** No sooner was this horrible but neces- 
sary act perpetrated, than Marguerite called 
on me to follow her. 

* Flight is our only refuge,' said she; 
'quick! quick! avmy!' 

^ I hesitated not to obey her ; but un- 
willing to leave the baroness a victim to 
the vengeance of the robbers^ I nosed her 
in my arms still sleeping, and hastteed 
after Marguerite. The horses of the ban- 
ditti were fastened near the docM*. My 
conductress sprang upon one of them : I 
fbllowed her example, pkced the banmess 
before me, and spurred on ifty horse. Our 
only. hope was to^reacb Strasboufg, which- 
was much nearer than the p^didus Chude 
liad assured me. Marguerite was wdl 
acquainted with the road, aiid . galloped 
on before me. We wereobliged to pass 
by the bam, where the robbers were 
slaughtering otur domestios. the door 
was open: we distingiuisdied ^e shtiefcs 
oC the dying, and iippiecations of the 



THE MONK. 2S1 

murderers.— What I felt at that moment, 
language is unable to describe. 

\** Jacques heard tlie Sampling of our 
horses, as we rushed by the bam. He 
flew to the door with a burning tdrch in 
liis hand, and easily recognized the fugi- 
tives. 

' Betrayed! betrayed? he shouted to 
his companions. 

" Instantly they left their bloody work, 
aiid hastened to regain their horses. We 
heard no more. I buried my spurs in the 
sides of my courser, and Marguerite goaded 
on hers with the poniard which had already 
rendered us such good servica We flew 
like lightning, and gained the qpen plains* 
Already was Strasboui^s steeple in sight, 
wHrti we heard die robbers pursuing us. 
Marguerite looked back, and distinguish- 
ed our followers descending a small hill at 
no great distance. It was in vain tiiat we 
iirged on our horses^: the noise appvoadu 
cd nearer with evory moment 



SdSi TfiE MONKi 

* We are lost !' she exclsiimed ; * the 
villains gain upon us !' 

* On, on !' replied I ; ' I hear the tramp 
ling of horses coming from the town/ 

" We redoubled our exertions, and were 
soon aware ^ a numerous band of cava^ 
liers, who came towards us at full speed. 
They were on the point of passing us. 

* Stay, stay!' shrieked Marguerite; 
' save us ! for GEod's sake save im T 

'^ The foremost, who seemed to act as 
guide, immediately reinej} in bis steed. 

' Tis she, 'tis she T exiclainied he, spring'* 
ing upon the ground. ' Stop^ my lord I 
stop ! they are safe ; 'tis my mother.' 

** At the same moment. Marguerite 
threw herself from her horse, da^>ed him 
in her arms, and covered him with kisses. 
The other cavaliers stopped at the exela* 
ination. 

' The baroness lindenb^g !' cried an^ 
other of the strangers eagerly '--•Vwhare i$ . 
she? Is she not with you ?' . ^ 



THC HONK; fISS 

^ He stopped, on beholding hcl* lyin^ 
senseless in my arms. Hastily he caugbf 
her from ine. The profound ileep in whieb 
she was plunged made him at first trem« 
ble for her life; but the beating of her 
heart soon reassured him. 

' God be thanked !' said he ; ' she ha» 
escaped unhurt.' 

" I interrupted his joy by pointing out 
the brigands, who oontimied to approach* 
No sooner had I mentioned them, than 
the greatest part of the company, -which 
appeared to be chiefly composed of sol« 
diers, hastened forward to meet them. 
The villains staid not to receive their at* 
tack. Perceiving their danger, they turn- 
ed the Iieads of their horses, and fled into 
the wood, whither they were followed 
by our preservers. In the meanwhife the 
stranger, whom I jessed to be the baron 
Lindenberg, after tlianking me for my 
care of his lady, proposed our returning 
yrith all speed to the town. The ba-^ 
roiftess, joii whom the effects of the. opi*: 



/ 



^e had. not ceased to ope^^e, was ^lai^lct 
before.liim; Marguerite.4tnd her ^n re* 
mcfunted thejti^ l^rses ; the bac(m!s domes* 
lies fi^Uowed, and we sooh anrived at tiie 
inn where he bad taken his apartments. 

*' Thi^^asat the Austrian Eagle/^ere 
my banlcer, whom . before my quittitig 
Paris I had apprized of toy intention to 
visit Strasbourg, had prepared lodgings 
for me. I rgoieed«tthis/eirciiin$tance: 
k gav0 nie an oj^rtunity of cttltivatii^ 
the baron's acquaintance, .whidi J foresaw 
would be of use to me in Germany. Iin- 
noedkti^y upoiv our amval, th6 lady was 
eonveyed to bed. A physidan was ^nt 
for, who prescribed a medicine likely to 
counteract the ^iffects of the sleepy poti<»i ; 
and aft^ it had been poured .down her 
throat, she was committed to the caore of 
the: hostess. The baron Idien addiie^ed 
himself to me, andtentreated^me^tareeottht 
the particuiars of this adventum. I com- 
plied with, his request ihstantaofoudy ; 
foTj m pain . respecting Stepliaao's ftte. 



whom I hskd been compelled to abandon 
to tlie ^niidty of the bwditti, - 1 foiind it 
impossible for me to Tepose till I had some 
news of him. I received. but too soon the 
il[itdlig€S)ce that my trusty servant, had 
perished. The soldiers .who^ had pursued 
the la-igand)s returned while I was em* 
ployed in relating tny adventure to the 
baron. .By their account^ I. found' that 
%he robbe^.faad been overtaken Guilt 
and true courage are inoompatifale : they 
had thrown themaelvto at the feet iif their 
pursuers, had surreaodered themselyes with- 
out striking a Uaw^ had discov^r^ their 
secret retraat, made koown tbeir sigiialfiU 
by wl4<^ the .rest of the gang might be* 
adzed, and, in short, fadd betrayed every 
mark of cowardice, and baseness. By thia 
means Ihe whole o£ the ban^ consistini;^ 
flf near sixty persons, had been made prl» 
sonars, bound, and. conducted to Stras-- 
bourg^ Sbm&of the soldiers hastened to the 
cottage, one of the banditti serving them 
aa f^ide* . Thehr first visit w«s to the. fatal 



bam, where they were fortunate enough 
to find two of the baron's servants rtiU 
alive, though desperately wounded. The 
rest had expired beneath the swords of 
the robbers; and of these my unhappy 
Stephano was one. 

** Alarmed at our escape, the robbers^ 
in their haste to overtake us, bad neglect- 
ed to vidt the cottage; in consequence^ 
the soldiers foun^ the two waiting*women 
unhurt, and buried in the same deathlike 
slumber which had overpowered their 
mistress. There was nobody else found 
in the cottage, except a child, not above 
four years old, which the soldiers faroogfat 
away with them. We were bitsyii]^ our-* 
•selves with conjectures respecting the Inrtlr 
of this little unfortunate, when Margue- 
rite rushed into the room with the baby 
in her arms. She fell at the feet of the 
officer who was making us this report^ 
and blessed him a thousand times for the 
preservation of her child. 

"^ When the first burst of mateiaal ttn-^ 



THE MONC. SS7 

ilemess wftS over, I besought her to de- 
clare by what means she had been iinited 
to a man whose principles seemed so to- 
tally discordant with her own. Sh^ bent 
her eyes downwards, and wiped a few 
tears from her cheek. 

* Gentlemen,* said she, after a silence of 
some minutes, * I would request a favour 
of you. You have a right to know on 
whom you confer an obligation; I will 
)not, therefore, stifle a confession which 
Covers me with shame ; but- permit me to 
comprise it in as few words as possible. 

* I was bom in Strasbourg, of respect- 
able parents ; their names I must at pre- 
sent conceal— -my father still lives, and 
deserves not to be involved in my infamy. 
If you grant my request, you sliall be in- 
formed of my family name. A vSkini 
made himself master of my affections, and 
to follow him I quitted my father's house. 
Yet, though my passk>ns overpowered my 
virtue, I sunk not into that degeneracy of 
vice but too commonly the lot of women 



f. 



ivho insS^^ the &$l false step. I lovc^ 
Ihy. s^ducetf dearly Jov^ him! I wap 
triae to bis. b^ct: thii8.lw^y> i»d the yQutl> 
who wdnied yoy,* isfty lor4: bftfqn, of your 
kdy'» dling^9 1^€^ the pledges of pur affec- 
tion. Even at this nioioeAt I lao^^it hi$ 
loss, though 'iri$^ to fai^i that I owe aU the 
¥ai$erie8 ^f my .etis^teu/cq. * 
; ' He vaj» qf noWe bfethi hut be had 
squaildered awiay jiip pajtenwd inheritances 
His reUtiOTBS xjonsidei«d him as a dbgram 
to their name, and utterly diseafded him. 
His exeea»Bs drew upeuhim tine ind^a^ 
tionof.tl^palioa He w*^ obKged to fly 
from Straaboitrg, .and -^^i bo other re* 
Source from beggaty-th^n an uoion with 
tte Itortditti iffho ihfesfed : the jaeigfebour- 
ixig fbie^\ wd whose troop '^a» cWeftjr 
^i3Q^s6id of' young men of feriiily^in Ihe 
fg^me |>r0di&9>ent with hinijdf. I waar 
deterttiii^ liOt to for^ke HitoJ I foUbw- 
ed iilm to the casern of the brigand^ tod 
Tjhared with him the misery iaasfeparable 
^oDfi.a.life of .pUlagfiL-f-But, though I ww 



THE MONt. 239 

aware that our rexbtance was supported 
by piimder, I Ime^ noit^aU the honibte 
cureutostances attached, to my love's pro* 
fessbn.; these he co wealed' firom* me whJi 
tbe utmost esMne. He .was conscious that 
my seutimeiit3 were not sufikientiy de* 
pmvedi to liobk ^ without horror tipon as» 
sassindticih. He auppwed, and with : jus^ 
tiee, that I* should fly witih detestation 
from the embraces of . a mwd^^. Eight 
years of possession had not.abated his love 
for me ; arid be cautioui% iemoved from 
iny knowledge* every tircumstanoe whijdA 
iniglit Ijead me to snispedt the crimes iri 
which lie but t^oo often. p«rtidpated» He 
succeeded perfectly. It was not till aftef 
my reducer's debth, that I disoc^ered luS 
handKa toi have ^een: stained iR^ith the Uood 
of innocdncei * :' 

* One fetal night he Was brought badt 
to the cavern, coitf^ered /vtith wnvinds: be 
Kecehied them in attacking • an English 
travdler, whont lis : eompatiions immedis 



fi40 VHElfOKir. 

iitely sacrificed to their resentmait Ha 
tiad only time to entreat my pardon f<»r 
ell the mrrows which he had caused me : 
he pressed my hand to his tips, and ex* 
pired. My grief was inexpressible. As 
soon as its violetioe abated, I resolved to 
return to Strasbom^, to throw myself, 
with my two children, at my fat^ei^s feet, 
und implore his forgiveness, though I lit* 
tie. hoped to obtain it. What was my 
consternation, when informed that no one 
entrusted with the secret of their retreat 
was ever permitted to quit the troop of the 
banditti-— that I must give up all hopes of 
ever rejoining society^ and consent instant* 
iy to accept one of their baiidfbr my bus* 
band! My prayers iSnd remonstrances 
were vt&n. They c^t lots to decide to 
whose possession I should fall : I became 
the property of the infamous Baptiste. A 
robber^ who had cmce been. b monk, pnv 
n<Minced over us a burlesque rather than 
a religious ceremony : I and my children 



THE MOkK. 341 

were delivered into the hands ot my new, 
husband, and he conveyed us immediately 
to his home.. ; .; 

* Jle jassured me. that he had long enter- 
tained fpr m^ the most ardent regard, l)ut 
that friendship for my deceased lover I\ad 
obliged him to stifle his deaires. ^He ^m 
deavoured to reconcjile ipe to my fete, and 
for some ,time treated nie with respect 
aifid gentleness. At length, finding that 
my Aversion rather increased , than dimi-] 
nlshed, he obtain^ those fevours.by vio- 
lence which I persisted to refuse hiru- No 
resource remained for me but to bear my 
sorrows with patience; I was conscioui^ 
thatl deserved them but too well.. Flight 
was forbidden; my. children were in t^lie 
power of Baptiste ; and he had sworn, that 
if I attempted to escape, their lives shoulct 
pay for it. I^had had too inany opportuni- 
ties of witnessing' the barbarity of bis na- 
ture, to doubt his fjLilfillijng his o^th to the 
yeyy letter^ Sad experiepce bad cppyihceS 
me of the horrors of pay sij;uatioti. My first 

VOL. I. • ^ M' 



ldv$r iiad carefuUy concealed Hieih ttom 
me ; Bajkiste 'rather rejoiced in opening 
.my eyes to the. cruelties of his profession, 
and strove to familiarize me witli blood 
and slau Salter. 

' 'My nature was ncenitioiis and wafibi 
^nit no"t cruel: my bohducVh'ad oeeh rni- 
prudent, but my heart was riot unprinci- 
pled. Judjge then what 1 must have felt 
at bi^ibg a cbxitinuar witness ot minds l&e 
most horrible and revoTtihg f ' i^^ud^ libw 
1 piust nave grieved at teing united to a 
man who received the unsuj^pecbng guest 
wituanau: of openness and libspitfdrtyy at 
tae very moment that he meaitated ni$ 
destruction I Chagrin and discontent prey* 
fed upon ray constitution ; the f^w charms 
oestowed on me by nature withered away, 
and the deiection of my countenance de* 
noted tn^ silnermgs of my hesu-t I if^as 
teippted a thousand time's. tQ put an end 
to my existence \ but the reQiembranoe of 
iny , diijclren held "iny ^ hancJl!, 1' trembled 
to leaVe my dearlbo^^i^ in my tyrant's power. 



THE HO^IjL d4S 

find tretnbled yet more for their virtue than 
their lives. The second was still too young 
to benefit by my instructions ^ but in the, 
heart of my eldest I laboured unceasing! jr 
to plant those principles which might en-? 
abl^ hin» to avoid the crimes of his parents* 
He listened to me with docility^ or rather 
with eagerness : even at his early age, he 
s^iewed that he was npt calculated for the 
society of villains ; and :the only comfort 
"which I. enjoyed ^n|OQg my sorrows, was 
.to witness the dawning virtues of my. 
Thepdore; , 

' jSuch was xny situation when the peiw 
fjdy of don Alphpnso'st pojstil^on coiM^uct- 
ed him to the cpttage- , His youth, air,; 
an^ manne^^s, interested, ii^.most forcibly^ 
in, Ijis heh^lil, ^ T!he als?nce of my husr, 
band's spns gave^me an opportunity which 
X^bad long yisbq^ tf ^pd; and I resp|ve4t 
to. risk every thing to. preserve the stramv 
geJT. Tlie vigilance ^f Baptiste prevented- 
me fronji w^rping dpuAlphonso of his, 
danger. 1 knew that my betraying thp, 

^ MS • 



iu 



THE M0:5^K. 



isecret would be immediately punished 
with death ; and however embittered was 
my life by calamities, I wanted courage 
to sacrifice it for the sake of preserving 
that of another person. My only hope 
rest^ upon procuring succour from Stras- 
bourg. At this I resolved to try; arid, 
should an opportunity offer of w^aming 
don Alphonso of his danger unobserved, 
i was determined to seize it with avidty. 
By Baptiste's orders 1 went up stairs to 
make the stranger's bed : I spread upon 
it sheets in which a traveller liad been 
murdered but a few nights before, and 
which still were stained with blood. I 
hoped that, these marks would not escape 
the vigilance of our guest, and that he 
would collect from them the desigfts* of 
my perfidious husband. Neither was this 
the only step which I took to preserve 
the stranger : Thfeodore was confined to 
his bed by illness. I stole into his room 
unobserved by my tyrant, communicated 
to him my project, and he entered into it 



with e0gern$8$. He rose in spite x)£- fais^ 
Bialndy , and dressed himself with all speeds 
I £eistened one of. tl^ sheets round hi;; 
arms, and lowered him from^ the windoT^# 
Hb fleW to the. stable, took Ckude's horse^ 
and luistened to Strasbourg. Had he be^tj^ 
accosted. by the banditti, he was- to hay q 
declared himself sent upoi^ a message, l](y; 
Baptiste^ but fortijm^tely he I'eached the 
town without meeting any obstacle. Im-^ 
madiat^y upon bis arrival at Stmsbo^rg^ 
he entil^at^d assistance from the- magis- 
trate : his story passed from mouth « tq 
mouth, and at length came tp the know- 
ledge of my lord the, baron. Anxious for 
tlie.safe^ o^ hjis l^y^, who he knew would: 
be upon tlie ip^d dhat evening, it striiql^: 
him that ^h^ mdght , have fallen intO) t^iie: 
pcywer of the robbersw He accompajsiedi 
X^eodicHre, who' guided th^so^diei^ (owaixla; 
the eottagCj, and aifritred just in* time to; 
say^e. us fitom falling once more into ther 
hands off our ^iiaiuiesk'< 

^^Here I interrupted Marguerite, to iur V 

m3 



S46 THE MONK. 

quire why the sleepy potion had beai pre* 
sented to me?---^She ^id, that Baptiste 
rapposied fne to haw amis about me, and 
wished to incapacitate me from making 
iresistance: it was a precaution whidi he 
always took ; since, as the travellers had 
BO hopes of escaping, despair would have 
incited them to sell their lives dearly. 

** The baron then desired Marguerite 
to inform him Wliat were her present 
plans. I joined him in declaring, my rea- 

> 

diness to shew my gratitude to her, for 
the preservation of my life. - 

* Disgusted with a world,' she replied^ 
^ in which I have met with nothing but 
misfortunes, my only M'ish is to retire into 
a convent. But first I must provide for 
my children. I find that my mother is 
no more — ^probably driven to an untimely 
grave by my desertion. My fiither is «tiU 
living : he is not a hard tnaor Perhaps, 
gentlemen, in spite of my ingratitude mA 
imprudence, your intercessions may in- 
duce him to fbrgi ve me^ and to take charge 



of his unfortunate grandsons. If you ob- 
tain this boon for nie, you will repay my 
services a thousand fold/ 

" Both the baron and myself assured 
Marguerite that we would spare no pains 
to obtain her pardon: and that, even 
should her fatheir be inflexible, she need 
be undei: no apprehensions respecting the 
fate of her children^ I engaged myself to 
provide for Theodore, and the baron pro* 
jnised to take the youngest under his pro* 
tection. The grateful mother thanked us 
with tears, for wliat she ccdled generosity, 
but which in fact was no more than a pro*- 
per sense of our obligations to her: she 
then left the room, to put her little boy 
to bed, whom fatigue and sleep had com^ 
pletely overpowered. . 

** The baroness, on recovering, and beings 
informed from what dangers I h^d rescued 
her, set no bounds to the expressions of 
her gratitude : slie was joined so warmly by 
her husband in pressing me to accompany 
them to their castle in BaviMria, that I 



24$ TttIV MQKKr 

found it ixfflpomUa. to resist tlieir entreaties* 
Duripg €| >«^^?k:wbich^ .w*,pa«sjed at Strach 
bourg, the interesta of JMargU^rite were 
ttot; ibrgotteu» In ovu* fippU^tipB to her 
fether, we spcceed^ as 9ptp\y as i^^ oeuld 
wWi^ Til^ g<Qod old iDpn. Imd lost hia 
wife: he badi oo diUdr&n but tjm unSoU:- 
tunate daughter, of iMhi^ he h^fe^iyei 
BO news for a}«nost fourtteniyfiiislj , He 
was syrrQunded by diatlmt.relat^ipnily wIk> 
waited with impatioimfor his*dee)9a$e» in 
Qrd^r to ;get posflettW.Qf hi^ 'rooney- 
WJberi, therefaye^ Mmgu^nta, . appeared 
ag^ii,5Q u^expeetedlyrf /h* . <»n$id§md hi^r! 
a^:a gift from Heave!ft;.b§ taceivpd her- 
and! her childj:^ with opea ai^ms, and in- 
siisted upon their establishing thfipaselves in 
his house without delay:. The disappoint- 
ed OQUsins were obliged tO' give plaee. 
*Tbe old oaao would not hear.pf hi$ daugb* 
ter'S' rifetiru\g into a convent; he said, 
thdt She- was too . necessary to his happi* 
ness, ; and she was easily persuaded to- re- 
linqui;^ hi^;d^gn8. But no p^rs>ia^Q«. 



TI}£ MONK. S49 

could induceThepdore to give up the plan 
which I had at first marked out for hioi. 
He had attached himself to me most sin- 
cerely during my stay at Strasbourg; and 
when I was on the point of leaving it, he 
besought me with tears to take iiim into 
my service. He set forth all his little 
talents in the most favourable colours, and 
tried to convince me that I should find 
him of infinite use to m e upon the road, 
I was unwilling to charge myself with a 
lad scarcely turned of thirteen, who X 
knew could only be a burthen to me : 
however I could not resist the entreaties^ 
of this affectionate youth, who in fact 
possessed a thousand estimable qualities. 
With some difficulty he persuaded his re- 
lations to let him follow me; and that per- 
mission once obtained, he was dubbed 
with the title of my page. Having pass- 
ed a week at Strasbourg, Theodore and 
myself^ set out for Bavaria, in company 
with the baron and his lady. These lat- 
ter, as well as myself, had forced Margue-^ 



SAO THfi M^KK. 

• » • T • » • 

rite to iaccept several presentis of value, 
both ioT henetf and her youngest son. 
Oil Teaviug her, 1 promised his mothei' 
faithfuUy, that I would testore Theodore ' 
to her within the year. 

"I hare related this adventure at length, 
Lorenzo, that you naight understand the 
means by whfch *the adventurer Alphon- 
so d'Alvarada got introduced iuto the 
castle of Lindtenberg/ Judge from this 
specimen, how uiuch faith should be given 
to your aunt^s assertion. 



END OF VOL. I. 



lO'' .. -n